With Apologies to Bea Arthur
by Matt the Batman Fan
Summary: All of reality is now in danger as the greatest champions of two different realities combine to fend off the incoming galactic storm. Well. . . maybe not the greatest champions. A Marvel/DC crossover story set in the Misfitverse.
1. Denial with Bullets!

Author's Note: You know what. All I'm going to say about this one is that it takes place in the six months between Issues #83 and #84 (which I strongly recommend reading regardless of your situation). As for everything else, well, feel free to send me whatever questions you've got and enjoy. . .

With Apologies to Bea Arthur

Chapter One

Bargaining. . . with Bullets!

Now that he was no longer on the outside looking in, William Joseph Batson realized that he had finally come to appreciate all the times when his sister would pester him about all the mysteries that his new home had to offer. The eternal child in him, the one that now appeared to stand within the doorway of countless realities, had always been more than a little frightened of all the secrets that lay within the power that he would eventually come to inherit. The fact of the matter had been that the formerly mild-mannered newsboy would have liked nothing more than to continue fighting evildoers and performing good deeds as Captain Marvel, Earth's so-called Mightiest Mortal. The more difficult matters that he faced now, the decisions that would doom or save the lives of countless beings, had long been a detail that he was more than happy to leave in the hands of his mentor. Being just the cover page hero was more than enough and more than he could have ever wanted.

Nearly three years had passed since the moment when such continued ignorance was no longer an option, when Shazam sacrificed himself to stave off the insane rage stirred within The Spectre during what mystic circles had since referred to as the Day of Vengeance. The guilt borne from his inability to protect the wizard who had given him so much was still a decidedly strong factor within the diligence he now took to his adopted task. Each kind word and harsh lesson prompted him to continue gazing upon everything he had been asked to look over and protect. From the war torn realities plagued by chaos and confusion to the idyllic milieus where mortals had come to appreciate the need to become something greater by choosing to meet each other halfway, the boyish immortal now took to his task out of duty and responsibility. His desire to help those in need, regardless of if or what the reward may be, is what governed him now.

Realizing that he was starting to think a little too highly of himself, the youth let out a chuckle while running his small hands through his "Big Boy" haircut as his outerworldly senses returned to looking over the plane of reality that he formerly called home. First came a quick glimpse of Karbarra, the ursaroid planet, and all the efforts being made to repair the extensive damage done by the forces of Leokar Kurkosaw, and he felt encouraged that those proud creatures were still able to summon the courage to continue through their unwanted and undeserved difficulties. Bringing his sights over to an arm of that spiral galaxy, he then took in the similar exertions taking place on the planet of Qward, a land that was continuing to find its place after finally being rid of Sinestro, their longtime leader and source of stability. He hardly needed the wisdom of Lumian to realize that those creatures had a hard road ahead of them, the temptation to return to their war-soaked ways doubtlessly strong.

Batson sensed the arrival of his champion while taking a moment to glimpse at Gotham City, the apparent home of what had shockingly become his planet's greatest guardians. The combined forces of Vincent Culp and The Sinestro Corps had done their fair share of damage to this old, imperfect city but, just as before, the strong citizens remained rooted to the cause of restoring what they once were. Batting back the desire to keep looking, the raven-haired god turned to greet the arrival of Kal-L, the Superman from the destroyed reality commonly known as Earth-2, while the old man took his own turn to look into all that he had been asked to help protect. Despite being well into his nineties, the Kryptonian looked far more hale and hearty than most could ever hope to be, the only real signs of his advanced age stemming from the slight wrinkles on his face and the gray hair above his temples.

"It looks like things seem to be getting a little better," Kal noted as all-too-human workers labored to repair the damage brought to them by monsters that most of them could not even begin to comprehend. "Still wish that I could have lent them a hand through all of this. They've already been through so much, after all."

"Clark. . ." Billy began with a word of caution, the young man quickly recognizing the tone in his friend's voice.

"Ahhh," Superman went on, his right hand extending forward in a gesture of dismissal. "Forgive me, William. Just sort of thinking back to London after The Blitz is all." The World War II veteran let out a sigh as he momentarily became lost within memories of his old home. "All that work we did to protect the world and we didn't even notice that there was so much we failed to do. And those were the people that never asked a thing of us, the ones that always get caught in the crossfire."

"That's enough, Kal-L," Batson broke in with a mild tone of warning. "There's no need for you to find too much fault for your actions. You and I both know that our duties lied elsewhere and that the safety of this world was in more than capable hands."

As Billy had expected, it didn't take long for reality's greatest champion to summon himself back to form, the old hand shaking his head to and fro while a wry smile appeared on his lips. "Sorry about that, old chum," Kal-L said, his wise candor sounding almost sheepish. "I suppose that all of this still gets to me every now and again."

Batson allowed himself a chuckle. "Well, that being said, I still trust that everything went well on your latest assignment?"

"Indeed," came the quick reply. "The battle was a bit rougher than what we imagined but we were still able to see things through. For the life of me, though, I'm still havin' a hard time wrapping my mind around seeing good ol' Bruce Wayne as an orangutan."

The heir of The Rock of Eternity and all the wisdom and duties held within it did his best not to try to find too much enjoyment in Kal-L's disbelief in relation to the circumstances on Earth-274 as he did his best to focus on the task at hand. "I realize that I summoned you back here fairly quickly but at least that allows you a short time of relief before you must continue. You are welcome to rest and recover. . ."

"Now, now," Kal-L broke in himself, the stern determination that occasionally made its way towards his aged eyes coming back with a vengeance. "What do I keep telling you? I'm an old man and I've had plenty of time to do my fair share of sleeping so how about you just go ahead and tell me what's next on the itinerary?"

Realizing that the tone of the reply left little room for argument, Batson waved his right hand toward a window to his old reality in order to provide insight into the crisis at hand. Kal-L hardly required any prompting as he followed Billy's eyes, the older of the two guardians joining his comrade in looking upon the image of an impossibly long stream of light spreading across the center of an unoccupied galaxy thousands of light years from The Milky Way. The old man took in the glint of concern on Batson's boyish countenance from the corner of his right eye while continuing to process just what he was looking at, the answers remaining unknown but the threat presented by the unknown phenomenon as plain as day.

"What we're looking at is something known as a 'dimensional bleed'," Batson explained, "an unnatural merge between two planes of reality wherein aspects of both forms of existence attempt to reside within the same point."

Kal-L nodded slowly, his knowledge of the terminology not as vast as he would have liked but enough for him to understand what was needed. "So this isn't just a matter of something from one reality popping into another?"

"Indeed," Batson quickly replied. "And, as you can imagine, the effects of this have the potential to be far more damaging than those singular instances. In a worst case scenario, the influx of combined matter may ultimately result in the implosion of both realities, a circumstance that would, in turn, most likely have a severe impact upon the connections between everything within the newly constructed multiverse."

The first Superman did his best not to look too concerned at this, his instinctual desire to remain calm, cool, and collected in the face of potential danger taking over his honest sensibilities. "And you're guessing that this. . . distortion," he went on, his thoughts momentarily searching for the right word, "isn't just some random occurrence."

The slow nod Batson gave to Kal-L in return was all the answer that was needed. "This is why I am asking you to investigate the bleed itself, if only to determine its source of origin, while I summon champions from both affected realities that can work to combat the ones inflicting the damage. After all, if it's one thing that Shazam has taught me about such potential catastrophes it's that acquiring information about the problem itself is almost always the best way to learn how to fix it."

Kal-L let out an introspective hum as his old eyes shifted back to the window to Earth-1, a realization quickly dawning upon him. "You're going to summon them, aren't you? Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, I understand that they've done a good job of handling what's been asked of them but. . ."

"And they'll be able to take this on as well," Batson countered over his champion's somewhat expected grievance. "I understand that you believe them to be a bit immature but I am quite certain that, once they are able to recognize what is at stake, they shall respond in a truly professional manner."

* * *

No one had ever really thought about why the day room had become the focal point of much of the lunacy that occasionally took place in the expansive confines that was Wayne Manor. After all, there were enough rooms in the mansion to choose from and doubtlessly many other spaces that could have suited their activities just as efficiently, if not more so, but the fact remained that they still came here to this occasionally sun-dappled chamber with the high windows on the western side in order to waddle in their own sporadic insanity. It was where Cecilia and Stephanie had chosen to place the 52-inch, high-definition television which had since broadcast competitions ranging from football to go-cart racing to fights involving electric mice and similarly dressed glacieneers and heaven alone knows how many filthy or uncouth words had passed during such noisy encounters. More importantly, however, was the fact that the day room was currently the home of a hastily but competently constructed wooden stage, the base of which was shielded from view with the aid of a collection of long drapes stolen from Bruce Wayne's bedchamber.

And, at the front of the makeshift runway that accompanied said stage, stood Stephanie Brown, the fair-haired, 19-year-old lifelong Gothamite looking quite pleased about whatever was going to happen. "Esteemed ladies and gentlemen," she began, her lithe, muscular body still mostly covered by the dark orange body armor and black cape that she often wore as Robin, "After numerous suspicious delays, I would like to welcome all of you to The 2009 Misfits Fashion Show!"

The announcement drew a variety of responses from the various audience members seated in the chairs and couches now all turned to face the stage. Cecilia King-Jones and Linda Park-West both let out a cheer, the former's efforts naturally being a great deal more raucous than the latter's endeavors. Kara Zor-el, on the other hand, let out a long sigh as she buried her face within her long fingers and hands, the half-Kryptonian heroine almost despondent about the role she had played to bring the soon-to-come events into motion.

"Now, before we begin, we would like to thank the man who made this event possible with the help of his courteous assistance and psychological baggage. . . Richard Grayson! Stand up and take a bow, Dickie!"

The vigilante of honor hardly needed any more prompting to rise from his chair and accept the warm applause, the original Boy Wonder taking in his praise with an open manner and exuberance taken straight out of his adoptive father's playbook. However, it soon became apparent that the 29-year-old Justice League member was hardly receiving a universal degree of approval, at least judging from the small happenstance of a rather heavy book suddenly dislodging itself from its resting place on a nearby shelf and flying into the back of his head seemingly by its own free will. Thankfully, Cecilia was more than happy to tend to his sudden agony as he lowered himself back down to his seat, the sound of Linda's laughter and the sudden throbbing coming from the back of his skull only putting a mild damper on his anticipation of the events to come.

"Well, I suppose that we should wait no longer!" Stephanie said with a vicious smile. "Now, in accordance to the wager made before the night's patrols and all the conditions attached to them, the lovely ladies of The Misfits have won and now, thanks to Nightwing here, the filthy men of Wayne Manor must now pay a horrible, hoooooorrrrrrible penalty!" The young Green Lantern put all her game show related instincts into gear as she swung her left arm back towards the curtain while still keeping the impish smirk wide on her features. "First up. . . WALLY WEST!!"

Cecilia's roaring applause began even before the father of two was in sight, her enthusiasm quickly bolstered as the gentleman occasionally known as The Fastest Man Alive suddenly bounded onto the stage as if he had been forcibly thrown. Of course, it only took one look at Wally to realize why he wouldn't want to be there. In the first place, the red, yellow, and black armored shirt seemed to be doing everything it could to clash horribly with his lightly-tanned skin and the combination of his scarlet hair and the short, yellow cape draped around his back made him look more suited for selling fast food than for the heroic derring-do he had been come to be known for over the last decade-and-a-half. The bright, green boots with pointed toes hardly did him any favors either, almost to the point where the speedster wanted to hate the bits of leather and rubber for not being enough to cover his long, bare legs. Unfortunately, he couldn't quite spread his hatred out as singularly as he would have wanted, at least as long as the jade-colored short shorts continued to press into his groin and make nearly every step a painful chore.

"Our first model today is Wallace West," Stephanie announced in a somewhat professional manner, her decorum made somewhat patchy by the appearance of the camera phone in her left hand. "His hobbies include dressing up in a giant, red condom, cursing like a sailor whenever he loses to me in _Halo_, wallowing in his consistent underachievement, and suffering from premature ejaculation during his bedroom exploits where he constantly proves that he is, in fact, The Fastest Man Alive."

Now it was Linda's turn to look phenomenally ashamed as Cecilia and Dick laughed like jackals. "Why did I ever think that this was a good idea?" the award-winning reporter murmured to Kara, her fellow lady-in-suffering, the question earning her a slow and confused shake of the head.

"HEY! That wasn't part of this deal!" Wally fired back through gritted teeth at the scurrilous master of ceremonies, the tilt of his hips allowing Arrowette to get a pristine shot of his spandex-covered posterior. "Damn it, Dick! I hope you're proud of yourself!"

The crime fighter known to the world as Nightwing fired back at his best friend with a calm, controlled stare while crossing his arms across his chest. "I think I'll be able to get over my guilt. Of course, if I have troubles, I suppose I can always think back to all the cheap jokes you gave me about this over the last 15 years."

The Flash said nothing as he stomped back down the runway, the former Justice Leaguer pointedly refusing Arrowette's thunderous requests to take his pixie shorts off. Such a circumstance might have been a problem in the eyes of the audience but the arrival of the next model quickly appeased those potential difficulties. Though this one looked somewhat more comfortable with the bizarre choice of modeling attire being forced upon him, the rowdy cheers fired at him by some members of the audience hardly did anything to ease the younger man's sensibilities.

"Our next slab of meat on display is Lloyd Thomas, a man whose body of a 13-year-old boy should be quite appropriate for this morning's attire," Stephanie continued with all the anticipation of a lioness pouncing upon a fallen gazelle. "Notice the almost total lack of hair on his legs, something that should not even be possible for a 20-year-old male, and you can bear witness to a textbook example of drastically delayed puberty."

The Black Dog didn't even bother to glare back at Stephanie, the half-demon telepath quickly realizing that the gesture would do far more harm than good as he strode down the makeshift runway with all the grace of a soldier marching toward a suicide mission. His dour demeanor improved only slightly after catching the sympathetic glare of a certain beloved member of the audience. "I suppose this is just another reason why we Brits try to stay away from short pants," he mused aloud with his typical gallows humor while placing his hands on his hips in order to appeal to the crowd. As humiliated as he could have been about the whole thing, particularly by the wolf whistle that Cissie had ready for him as he came to a stop, the angry glare from his lover's eyes and the short spray of heat vision that came inches from setting Stephanie's hair on fire imbued him with the confidence to fire a wink at Kara before retreating for the curtain with a stride to his step.

Tragically, the joviality spawned by the previous scene did little to appease the incoming horror brought about as the third and final model made his presence felt by leaping through the curtain. Whereas his colleagues had taken to their task with what could be best taken as a cautious trepidation, the final loser of the evening had decided to dive into his unwanted duty with a disturbing amount of gusto. Striding across the stage with an exaggerated swagger to his hips, he stopped at the front of the stage with a quick slide as he bent over in order to run his fingers up from his ankles back to his crotch.

"OH YEAH! THE NEW BOY WONDER IS ON THE SCENE!" Roy Harper proclaimed with a braggadocio that even the most critically acclaimed of Las Vegas showgirls would have a hard time duplicating, the red-haired sharpshooter more commonly known as Arsenal not looking the least bit ashamed by his apparent humiliation. "AND YOU _KNOW _YOU CAN'T HANDLE ALL THIS!" he added while shaking his hips to the universal disapproval of the crowd.

"Oh, good gravy!" Stephanie retched out while keeping her hands over her eyes. "Couldn't you at least have tried to shave those things?!" The young Green Lantern took a moment to test her almost boundless will as she pried her eyes open and looked at the hair-laden muscle, sinew, and skin available for perusal but found herself coming up mercifully short.

"AW! YOU KNOW YOU JUST JEALOUS!" Arsenal fired back as three other denizens of Wayne Manor came into view. Seemingly unaware of the new arrivals, the former Teen Titan began to sweep back his right hand in order to slap his own ass while breaking into an impromptu jig. "WHAT YOU GONNA DO WITH ALL THAT JUNK! ALL THAT JUNK INSIDE YO TRUNK? I'MA GET, GET, GET, GET YOU DRUNK, GET YOU LOVE DRUNK. . ."

"HARPER!!"

Realizing the risk of what would come with making an unfair appraisal, allow this kindly author to simply state that words could not describe the fury on the face of Bruce Wayne as the champion of Gotham City perused the antics of his various soldiers and confidantes. Meanwhile, standing just behind the infuriated detective, Alfred Pennyworth and Lian Harper observed the scene with far more pronounced neutrality, the both of them even showing a mild bit of sympathy for those that would soon be subject to the wrath of The Batman. Of course, neither one of them were foolish enough to voice such condolences, the instinctual desire to protect their own hides easily taking precedent over performing any greater measure of compassion. Thus, the room remained silent as Batman strode up to his first victim, the poor fool's sputtering already beginning to emerge while the rest of the prey did their best not to giggle.

"Go back to The Watchtower, Dick," Bruce growled at his adopted son, the lack of his customary cape and cowl doing nothing to bring down the intimidation factor of his efforts.

"But I. . ." Dick began to mumble while gesturing his arms wildly. "I didn't. . . This wasn't my. . ."

"NOW!"

The quiet within the scene finally broke as Cecilia, Roy and Stephanie all burst out laughing, their merriment soon accompanied by Linda's quieter chuckling and Kara's moan of utter misery. None of these reactions, of course, did the least bit of good in appeasing the rage of The Dark Knight of Gotham City, the intensity of his glares and the volume of his words ratcheting even higher as Stephanie began to complain about the apparent fact that the men of Wayne Manor were supposed to wear the costumes for the remainder of the day in accordance to their bet. In the midst of all the chaos, Lian, after finally having enough time to properly take in the scene, calmly looked up to the gentleman still standing to her right.

"My daddy's got hairy legs."

Alfred didn't even bother to voice his agreement, the former Interpol agent now only wishing that the miscreants he watched over would clean everything up after everything was said and done.

* * *

_San Francisco – Elliot Bay Apartments – Room #32-C_

"You'll have to excuse my mother. She suffered a slight stroke a few years ago which rendered her totally annoying."

That exquisite voice and the canned laughter that accompanied it once again caused a throb of anguish to pierce through the diseased heart of our beloved hero. He could feel the very lurching of his veins as his cracked and scarred lips briefly opened and a sob escaped from his still-recovering larynx. Of course, that torture may have had to do with his continued consumption of the unusual cocktail to his left, the gallon container of whiskey and bleach doubtlessly doing a fair share of damage to his innards but it wasn't as if his beverage of choice could have done this kind of damage on its own. Agony like this could only be forced open by a wound that could never be healed, an aperture in his usually vibrant life that could never be fully filled again.

And, believe you me, if there's anyone in this great, big multiverse of ours who knows more about healing holes in his body, it's Wade Winston Wilson.

"Oh, my beloved Bea," the mercenary known as Deadpool cried out with a sorrowful warble, the comically insane mercenary cradling his remote control as if it were a long, lost child. "How could you leave me like this? I mean, I know that the odds were pretty bleak for another cast reunion but, still, couldn't you have given it one more shot? Just for me? Or maybe for dear, sweet Estelle? You know we would've loved it."

Wade suddenly stopped wallowing in his own miseries, the cancer-ridden psychopath slowly rising his eyes up towards the roof of his messy apartment as if seeking out some unseen force.

"Hey, Matt! Don't you think that this is a little bit extreme for my character? I mean, you know I love my lady Bea but still. . ."

The force summoned down from on high was quick to respond, the creator of the tale around him eager to nip this potential hazard within its proverbial bud.

_Says the fellow who once spent two entire issues of his own comic lusting after Squirrel Girl while trying to join The Great Lakes Avengers. _

"Touche," Wade Wilson replied, his hands once again reaching for the bleach container.

_And besides, didn't we come to an agreement about this before we started this little story, Mister Wilson? Now you can be the star of my show and chip away at this fourth wall of ours but I'm not about to have you break it, especially during the first chapter of this thing._

"All right, all right," Deadpool finally agreed, his gloved hands gesturing in a motion of surrender. "Just hurry up and get to the good stuff because, just between you an' me, nobody likes it when you go on and on about describing a character."

The Merc with a Mouth let out a grunt as he pointed his customized Heckler & Koch MP7 straight at his television screen before using the semi-automatic pistols to send the aged screen to its untimely end. Tossing aside his makeshift decanter with a swipe of his left hand, he then closed his right hand into a fist and raised it towards the heavens.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU HAVE AGAINST ME, GOD?!" the former guinea pig of Weapon X bellowed. "Did you just need another meat sack to listen to your stories, huh? You know, I could have just shot up the Young Republicans office for ya! They're right across the damn street and I'm sick of listening to them play the same Christian rock music over and over and over and over again!"

Finally deciding that anger was far more preferable to sitting around and engaging in some Wolverine-style moping, the abused son of an army general leapt off the rotting recliner that had served as his bed for the past two days and began to stride through his apartment. Of course, his living quarters could only be described as cluttered even under the best of circumstances and the past week of depression and destruction had left his home looking like something that homeless people would be a little leery of taking up residence in. Month old dirty clothes and Chinese takeout boxes and tequila bottles and various dating service advertisements all littered the floor to the point where it would have been difficult for a newcomer to determine whether or not the humble abode even had an actual floor to speak of. Fortunately, before his anger about having to hire, and maybe kill, a maid could make him even more nonsensical, the troubled fellow found himself momentarily appeased by the sight of a half-full bag of Cheetos sitting amongst the ruins.

"That reminds me," Deadpool began while swatting aside the hovering flies with anxious swats before consuming the delicious snack treats with voracious gulps. "I fould give a cwall to my old buddy Weeshel. Shee if that pwuncture wound of hish isshall healed up," he continued on, his monologue garbled by the mouthfuls of processed cheese and enriched corn meal. "Of course," he went on after finally taking a moment to clear his throat, "that means I've got to find my phone."

Emboldened by his newfound quest, Deadpool took to his work with an impressive degree of speed despite the bag of snack treats still cradled in his left arm. Unfortunately, the first handful of piles he managed to sift his way through yielded nothing of importance save for an impressively large cockroach that he decided to name Tafty after the late, scale-breaking president of the good ol' U.S. of A. The next few searches, while failing to uncover the phone, yielded something a bit more substantial in the form of a ragged alley cat that quickly decided to nuzzle against his right boot.

"Since when did I get a cat?" Deadpool asked aloud, the killer of hundreds stooping down in order to feed the ball of black and white fur a Cheeto or two before continuing his pursuit into his equally untidy bedroom. Suddenly, his ears picked up a buzzing sound from behind the far side of his bed and he quickly leaped over the surrounding clutter in order investigate the matter more closely. However, his good mood quickly dissolved as he discovered a man adorned in green and yellow cloth sleeping on the floor, a sliver of drool leaking from the right side of his mouth and a teddy bear within his fragile grip.

"Unfortunately, I know exactly when I got you," he said in disgust before beginning to work his brain into deciding what kind of way he would torture Bob today. Fortunately for the disgraced former agent of HYDRA, a patchy recording of "My Humps" began to trill out from underneath the bed and Wade rushed toward the source of it, his sudden movement prompting the little cat at his feet to be shoved aside. Batting aside one of Bob's big booty porno mags, Deadpool finally got a hold of his cell phone after the third or fourth ring and flipped it open with a well-practiced toss. Not recognizing the number, the mercenary took a moment to earnestly hope and pray that the demonic Avon lady hadn't tracked him down before pressing the "send" button.

"Hulk's Pizza: You Order, We Smash," he greeted with as much cheer as he could muster.

The light chuckle on the other end of the line was all that the deformed former Special Forces member needed to recognize his caller. In fact, it was almost enough for him to hang up the phone right then, maybe put a bullet or six into it just to make certain, but the familiar voice quickly gave him pause.

"'Ello, Wade," said the sweet Scottish lilt, the softness of it making Deadpool sense that his apparent visitor was stressed out about something, probably him. "I. . . I got yuir number from Irene Merryweather. I hope you wouldn't mind. . ."

A handful of long seconds passed before Wade figured out that it was all right for him to speak. After all, he had enough history with the woman on the other end of the line for even him to realize the damage that could come from making the wrong move. "Yeah, I should have known that stupid cow would've ratted me out," he began while moving about the room, his quick arms busily brushing aside as much clutter and mess as they could. "Don't suppose you'd mind if I hopped on over to her place and made a few Quarter Pounders, huh?"

Oddly enough, the mildly irritated sigh from the other end of the line made Deadpool feel just a little bit better. "I just wanted to see how you were doin', is all. Y'know, after the whole mess with Cable and, well. . . y'know."

Wade let his cragged lower lip run across his teeth as he tried to think of one of his brilliantly clever retorts. "Awww, you know me, Terry," he said with his typically careless tone. "I'm as hale and hearty as a horse breeder. Hey, I even got a cat." Realizing that he probably had earned a few moments as his caller took all that in, he took a moment to glance at the kitten and see the little beast giving him quite the exasperated glare. "That means I'm preparing to start a family according to all these psychological manuals Nate tried to make me read!"

Theresa Rourke's sharp and sudden intake of breath was a quick sign that he had touched a nerve. Already aggravated that he had screwed up whatever this was, he rushed to apologize with various platitudes ranging from saying he wanted to stay free and easy forever to an offer to kill the kitten immediately (which earned him quite the hiss from the critter who had recently joined him on his bed).

"Oh, it's not that, Wade," Theresa said gently, the woman formerly known as Siryn unconsciously twisting a strand of her long, red hair as she searched for the right words. "It's jus'. . . Some things have happened with Jamie an'. . ."

"Oh." The mere mention of that name was already helping spawn a number of colorful images in Wade Wilson's diseased mind. "You mean the Duplicate Man."

"_Multiple _Man," Theresa fired back with a mild degree of chiding. "Truth be tol', the two of us have been goin' through quite the rough patch an' well, I suppose I could use an open ear."

Wade saw himself manning a cash register at a McDonald's, goofy hat, nametag, and all, and every customer was a duplicate of Jamie Madrox. They were all lined up in single file, one after the other, and they would ask for a Quarter Pounder with Cheese and as soon as they got to the front of the line and he would shoot him in the head. Then another, and another, and another. . .

"Well, I told you that I was pregnant, didn't I. . ."

He was manning a video game controller, his hands shaking with excitement as he pressed the A button over and over, each push summoning a Multiple Man that would mindlessly walk off the edge of a high cliff down onto the deliciously jagged rocks below.

". . . 'an it turns out that one of his dupes was messin' around with Monet as well an' he was havin' a hard time figurin' out if it was him that slept with me or one of his other duplicates."

Terry was standing next to a furniture showroom alongside Jamie, the both of them patiently awaiting the arrival of their newly order cradle. There was the roar of an engine as a furniture truck backed through the front window of the store, the back wheels of the vehicle running over Madrox and squashing him flat like one of those potato pancakes that Wade liked to eat at two in the morning. Then, as she belted out a stirring rendition of "Thank You for Being a Friend," Terry hopped into the passenger seat of the delivery truck before the two of them drove off into the sunset.

". . . 'an now it turns out that the baby was just another one of his bloody dupes and it's all a lie and. . . and he's gone now an' I've got no clue of what to do."

Wade eagerly took the advice of the booming voice telling him to "FINISH HIM" and severed Jamie's spinal cord from the rest of his body. He indulged in the joy of the announcer's "BOOMSHAKALAKA" as he slammed the basketball through the net, the impact shattering the glass backboard and causing the shards to fall right into Jamie's eyes and exposed scrotum. . .

"I don't know. . . Wot do you think, Wade?"

"No clue," Wade replied, his anxious mind already forgetting what he thought he was going to say in the first place. "But on the bright side, you won't have to name the kid Manifold Boy."

The mildly disgusted grunt that came from Theresa's side of the conversation almost prompted Wade to breathe a sigh of relief. "_Multiple Man_, ya silly sot. An' if ya can crack those jokes of yuirs than I guess you're all right. Still, thanks for listenin' to me whingin', Wade, an' if ya need someone ta talk to then just give me a ring. 'S the least I could do after that little outburst, after all."

Deadpool didn't even bother to shoo away the kitten mewling away on his lap, the little runt apparently quite attached to the tear on his right pant leg and determined to use its tiny claws to make it as large as possible. Of course, the sudden burst of energy that prompted him to leap back to his feet also forced the feline to suffer an ungainly tumble back down to the bed, a sharp hiss emerging from the feline's lips as it was startled once again.

"That's it!" declared The Merc with a Mouth, "Terry and my darling Bea wouldn't want me to just sit around and feel sorry for myself. After all, characters get retconned back from the dead all the time and I'm not gonna put something like that into motion just by sitting here."

Renewed by his newfound purpose, the masked hired gun stomped over back to Bob, the former Agent of Hydra, and hefted him up by his bright yellow belt. The sudden display of motion quickly jolted the failed terrorist out of his slumber and his eyes snapped open with shock.

"Hey, Bobby! What's the status of our military vehicle pool?"

It was probably a good thing that Wade was suddenly in a good mood, particularly since the few seconds Bob needed to snap himself out of his stupor would have normally been enough for him to earn a gunshot to the leg.

"We have a vehicle pool?!"

Deadpool patiently shook his head back and forth while rapping his left fist against Bob's forehead. "Hello? Is anybody in there, McFly?! _Of course _we don't have a vehicle pool! But the Defense Department does and we're going to break into it!"

"We are?" Bob asked with more disbelief than usual in situations like these, a small part of him once again wondering about the likelihood of his wife taking him back if he sent her a tasteful bouquet.

"Why yes we are," Wade replayed with what normally stood for him as a grin, his disfigured face often making facial expressions quite difficult to decipher. "Glad you thought of it, buddy, 'cause it's high time that we get ourselves back into the game and this is the perfect way to do it!"

Bob thought it wise that he didn't say anything logical in response to that. Of course, that decision also ended up with him being unceremoniously dropped to the floor but at least that meant that he had some scant amount of time to figure out how he was going to survive this latest excursion.

"And besides," Deadpool added with a merry grin. "There's no real way that Matt can continue on with the story if we don't get out of the house!"

And, somewhere high up above, a certain writer realized that this was going to be a long ten weeks.

* * *

_Earth-1, Aquarius Dwarf Galaxy, RA 20:47.2 Declination -12:51_

It had taken quite a bit of time for him to be comfortable with the silence of space. Perhaps it was just the matter of being a child raised on a busy farm or a high school football star or everything else his old life used to be but Kal-L had grown quite comfortable with being surrounded by all the noise that humanity had to offer. Back then he knew if he could hear the cheering of the crowds, whether it rose from the aged, wooden bleachers of Smallville Memorial Stadium or the streets of Metropolis, the Earth-2 Superman knew that he was doing what he should. He could be the hero that everyone could look up to and rely on. He could play the role that he and his real mother and father had made for him rather than that of the faceless conqueror that Jor-El had cast him to be.

He wasn't about to lie to himself and say that the anonymity that came with his current lot in life didn't occasionally make him feel uncomfortable. And, to be fair, the part of the nameless hero was quite the ways removed from what he was and what he long thought he should have been. Of course, it only took one moment of memories to remind him that what he was doing was a good thing. All he needed was Lois's words to keep him moving despite the original confusion and occasional taste for glory. Here, back in the outskirts of everything he once knew, Superman was now certain that he could handle the grounds and was glad to do so without any need for approval or acceptance.

The new life also brought its fair share of unexpected situations and the colorful scene in front of him was just another example. Just as Billy had warned him, the video image of a so-called dimensional bleed paled in comparison to the sight of the real thing happening before his very eyes, the warped collage of images and flashes of pale light momentarily scrambling his hypersensitive optic nerves as he tried to put himself in focus. Briefly shifting his aged eyes away from the chaotic tableau, the old man did his best to get a feel of all the eldritch energy and cosmic radiation circulating in front of him, sense how the patch of merged realities seemed to expand piece by piece. He had made sure to spend what little spare time he had to learn more about what made magic work, if only because the education would make him better at what he had been called to do, but the fact remained that there was little more that he could do here than what Billy had asked of him.

Shutting his eyes and clearing his thoughts of all distractions, the Kryptonian began a slow, silent chant taught to him by the guardian of The Rock of Eternity. According to Batson, the scanning enchantment would be the best way of tracking down the source of the disturbance and thus give them the first piece of this dangerous puzzle. It was a simple charm, of course, one that could have been performed by anyone with even the least bit of knowledge of the magical arts, but he had been insistent upon doing the work himself. After all, there was no need for anyone else to put themselves in danger by doing what should be asked of him.

A rapid shift in motion told Kal-L that he was right to be worried, the greatest champion of the destroyed reality known as Earth-2 quickly sliding to his right as a black, red, and purple blur nearly knocked him into the bleed. His thoughts still somewhat muddled by the psychological strain brought about by his previous task, Superman could make out little more than the creature's violet mohawk hairstyle before the creature's left fist pounded into his sternum. A concentrated blast of crimson-colored energy was quick to follow as the first known Man of Steel was struck again and again by his unknown assailant, each blow aimed to draw Kal-L closer and closer into the bleed. The attack was harsh and well planned but Kal-L had not survived six decades on the battlefield due to sheer luck and coincidence and soon his skill and experience allowed him to recover and regain equal footing. The two beasts of nearly incalculable speed and power came to clash, their strikes causing shockwaves that caused further strife to the space around the western edge of the spiral-armed galaxy they occupied.

_Don't really have any idea on who this happens to be,_ Superman realized as the muscular alien in the red and black battle armor wrapped his girthy hands around his neck, _but I've got a good idea on why he's here._

The Kryptonian gritted his teeth while pushing himself forward as far and fast as he could, the old man doing everything he could to counteract his opponent's attempts to force him into the bridge between the two realities. Every whit of his adversary's actions screamed to Kal that his foe was more than willing to sacrifice his own life in order to accomplish his mission and it was that hypothesis that prompted The Man of Steel to come to a rather risky conclusion. His enemy seemed calm and collected in spite of the obvious strain that his enemy was enduring as they struggled for control of the momentum and it was that lack of a reaction, when combined with some other clues, that gave the guardian an idea on how to win. Suddenly pouring every bit of strength and speed he had into his work, the Superman of Earth-2 finally managed to overwhelm his foe's efforts, the sudden lurch forward carrying the both of them easily away from the unusual death trap. There wasn't a hint of fear or surprise on his adversary's face as Kal-L swung his right arm forward with a vicious haymaker, the impact crushing Gladiator's skull with ease and bringing the battle to a sudden end.

_Huh, _Kal-L thought while observing the damage. _Something tells me that Billy is going to want to hear about this._

* * *

_San Francisco – X-Men Headquarters_

A strong percentage of those that reside in this carefully constructed home and walk within these long hallways and passageways have spent the majority of their lives searching for a haven such as this. Deemed different in the eyes of common society through the simple difference of a chromosome or two, this home and facility now houses some of the greatest champions of what was once the inheritors of the Earth but now, thanks to one of their own, are nothing but remnants of a slowly dying breed. They have been called freaks, mutants, or homo superior by others as well as themselves and each of these stigmas have twisted their lives in some way or other, most often towards a darker path of confusion and uncertainty where they were forced to question what their purpose truly was within this turbulent world. Now, however, in this city built upon meeting and overcoming the struggles of acceptance and tolerance, these misfits and proud souls now have a home where safety is something more than just an impossible dream.

"SOMEBODY KILL THAT LITTLE FREAK!!"

Of course, the place has had its share of off days. On the other hand, the old threat sounded like music to Deadpool's ears as he traipsed down the carpeted halls, his senses on high alert for anybody who might come at him from the corners or try to sell him insurance. Although he had to confess that the new digs designed for the team of mutant superheroes was quite the bit nicer than his own humble abode, the fact that he was invading someplace new also meant that he ran the risk of getting lost.

And then there was the fact that he was wearing an impressively large bra over his eyes. And, if there was any confusion over who the owner of that lacy undergarment happened to be, one would only have to take a look at the homicidally angry, blonde-haired Bostonian dashing after our suave champion, her normally picture-perfect skin rendered diamond hard by her own mental command.

"SHOOT HIM!" screeched Emma Frost, the institute's current headmistress rendered inconsolable after her discovery that her bedroom had been broken into, a state of mind that simply could not be appeased by the efforts of the calm man dashing just a few steps behind. "Fry off that disgusting face of his so I can pick at that small smattering of grey matter he calls a brain!"

"Calm down, Emma," Scott Summers said with as much gentility as he could, his efforts stymied both by his physical exertions and his instinctual need to never, ever, laugh in the midst of battle, especially this one. He was also quite determined to bring down the bothersome, but relatively harmless, pest ahead of him without a great deal of collateral damage. The longtime field commander of the X-Men instinctually pressed a button on the side of his ruby quartz visor and let loose a stream of solar energy that would be enough to disorient his target but not total the walls around him. "And you, Deadpool," he went on as his first shot missed by a matter of inches, "stay right where you are and bring this foolishness to a stop."

"Awwwww, come on, Scarecrow!" Deadpool said with his pettiest of whines, his leg muscles churning as he shifted from left to right in order to dodge Cyclops' scarily precise attacks. "How can I take a trip down to Oz without seeing how your new Dorothy is doing? And, my, she's done a lot of growing up, hasn't she? Almost makes you think that it wasn't all done by Mother Nature."

Never one to not give his audience what they wanted, Wade took a moment to stare at his invisible audience while avoiding Scott Summers' fourth attempt to bring him down.

"Oh, and in case some of you are interested, and I know that you are, they're 32E."

"GRAAAAAAGH!"

Although his current circumstances probably wouldn't show it, Deadpool was smart enough to teleport away before The White Queen could strangle him with her own Victoria's Secret special. On the other hand, his little trip also took him into further uncharted waters, specifically a rather expansive day room that, judging from the smattering of paintings and blank canvases, appeared to be doubling as some kind of art studio. Taking a few moments to admire the surrounding pieces while searching his inner encyclopedia to determine which of the X-Men he was likely about to come across, the distraction was just long enough for him to get slammed into the eastern wall with a hard shove, the impact cracking the wood and plaster as well as several of Deadpool's more important ribs.

"I do not know why you are here," began the slow, dangerous tones of Piotr Rasputin, the thick Russian accent of the mutant strongman known as Colossus making his warning sound even more ominous, "but I will make certain that you do not get what you have come for."

"Aw, come on, Petey," Deadpool wheezed out in reply, his attempts of being pithy made a great deal more difficult by the organic steel fingers wrapped around his windpipe. "I woulda thought you'd be a lot more understandin'. Y'know, now that you've accepted who you are and. . . and. . . admitted your homosexuality. . ."

"What?" Colossus sputtered, the seemingly random comment causing him to momentarily lose his concentration.

"Oh. Oh, yeah. That's the Ultimate version of you I'm thinking of," Deadpool remembered. "Sorry. I always get you guys mixed up."

The Merc with a Mouth wisely shut his eyes as he dropped a flash grenade at his tormentor's feet, the resulting explosion of light forcing the kindly Russian to roar in pain and let him loose. Though he knew it to be a little rude to just go and teleport away after causing such a fuss, Wade also realized that he still had plenty of other things to do and ultimately chose to take his leave. His latest spatial jaunt ended up taking him to a chamber at least two or three times larger than where he had been last, the surrounding tables and nearby aromas making it rather obvious that he appeared to have arrived in some kind of mess hall.

"Let's see," he mumbled while pondering over whether or not he had time to go snatch a Hot Pocket or two. "I've seen Dorothy, The Scarecrow, and The Tin Man. . . Now who does that leave?"

A familiar roar and an even more recognizable _SNIKT! _provided Deadpool with a distinct reminder of who else he was hoping to come across on this magical occasion. Looking behind him with a wave of unsurpassed joy, the longtime hired gun opened his arms wide to accept what would most certainly be the start of a joyous reunion.

"TOTO!!"

The fact that Wolverine had sunk his adamantium claws into his shoulders rather than his chest provided Wade with a good indication that the burly, hairy, and stumpy Canadian mutant was in a good mood. As the two of them crashed into and through the nearby dining table thanks to the force of their embrace, Wade couldn't help but laugh at the wonder of it all as his role model at Weapon X Academy rushed to catch up on old times. The double-footed thrust kick Deadpool fired at Wolverine's gut was enough to draw out their meeting even further, the strike forcing the mutant known as Logan to roll across the shattered wood, the strongly built berserker quickly rolling back to his feet around the same time that Deadpool managed to do the same thing.

"Now we've got a party!" Deadpool crowed while aiming the barrels of his MP7s straight at Logan's eyeballs. "Say, where's that pretty, little Shadowcat? Ever since I Shoryuked her Ken back in Hong Kong I've been looking to see if she wanted me to show her some more moves."

The fact that Wolverine fired back with an undefinable roar and an attempt to cleave his head off his shoulders told Deadpool that he had found a great topic of conversation. Performing a side roll that allowed him to dodge the precise swipe by inches, the red-and-black garbed mercenary continued to backpedal so he would have just enough time to catch up.

"Aw, come on, Logan! We're all pissed off that Marvel let Joss Whedon kill her off that way he did. Still, the guy did write _Buffy _and I've always thought that _Runaways _always deserve more pub. . ."

Deadpool suddenly cut short his enthralling symposium, the discovery that he was currently about three-quarters of a mile above the ground momentarily forcing him to shut his mouth.

"Wow. I think I can see my house from here."

For a whole two seconds.

"My apologies, Herr Wilson," replied a smooth voice that held more than a hint of a German accent. "But I found that I simply had to do whatever I could to stop you and Logan from destroying any more property."

"Oh, great. It's Boris Grishenko," Deadpool whined, the suddenly aggrieved champion of chaos quickly holstering his guns before reaching for the katana blade strapped to his back scabbard. "Don't you have a _Spy Kids _movie to be in or something?"

"Ahhh, and I had almost forgotten you and your gift with words," Kurt Wagner countered, the mutant known as Nightcrawler sounding quite whimsical in response as the swashbuckling mutant locked swords with Deadpool from half-a-mile up. "I suppose that next you'll be telling me that I should go star in some ridiculous movie about the Spice Girls or something, ja?"

"Well, you deserve it!" Deadpool fired back over the clashing of their blades and the sound of the wind sweeping up at them as they continued their mutual plummet. "I mean, you go and ditch after the second movie! And do you know how many people wanted to come back and be in _The Last Stand_? I mean, the guy who played Cyclops was in the movie and he was killed off in about five minutes!"

The conversation was suddenly cut short as the two swordsmen came about an eighth of a mile from crashing into the courtyard below. A distinct _BAMF! _slightly preceded Deadpool's activation of his personal teleporter, the brief cease in downward motion allowing the assassin to land gracefully from his newest point of location about five feet above the ground.

Nightcrawler had pulled off a similar feat, of course, the indigo-haired (and furred) mutant already crouching on his haunches as Deadpool took in his surroundings. The longtime X-Man and former leader of Excalibur briefly dug his feet into the fresh grass, his six toes and their accompanied muscles tensed and ready to spring as he awaited the response of his fairly unpredictable foe. His yellow, pupiless eyes widened only slightly as Deadpool pulled his guns out of his holsters and began to fire, the mutant's impressive reflexes and awareness allowing him to dodge each and every attack with a timely bit of teleportation. A cleverly planned jump to Deadpool's back allowed him to land a double-footed dropkick that brought an end to the hail of bullets, his tail swishing through the air as he once again landed upon solid ground.

"Graagh! Stand still so I can hit you properly!" Deadpool shouted back as he turned around to fire at Nightcrawler once again.

"Thanks but no," Nightcrawler gamely replied, his next jaunt allowing him to briefly perch on Deadpool's shoulders, the unique positioning allowing him just enough time to destroy his foe's teleportation device with a well-positioned lunge of his blade. "Instead, perhaps you should offer me the opportunity to continuing stalling you until my comrades can come and restrain you?" he offered.

Deadpool couldn't help but gnash his teeth as he flung Nightcrawler aside, his peripheral vision soon picking up the sight of nearly a half-dozen X-Men winging their way. There wasn't any way that Bob could come and make a timely rescue now, especially since the poor dope couldn't even drive their getaway vehicle properly.

_Honestly, you'd think a big-league terrorist operation would have the foresight to teach their agents how to operate a stick shift_.

However, as fate should have it, another opportunity suddenly appeared to Deadpool in the form of a glittering orange portal hovering just at Nightcrawler's back. The unknown passageway soon began to expand, the reverberations streaming from the field of energy giving off an audible hum as the pointy-eared mutant briefly scurried away on all fours in order to avoid being dragged inside.

"_Was ist das?" _Nightcrawler asked in disbelief.

"I'll tell you was is das," Deadpool said with a whoop while pushing himself forward. "Das is adventure!"

Not even Kurt Wagner had enough time to teleport himself away as he was pushed into the gate by the force of Deadpool's shove. His senses were quickly overcome by the waylaying of unknown sights and sounds as both his body and mind began to drift within the temporal ether, his lone focus of concentration coming straight from Wade Wilson himself.

"WHEEEEEE!"

* * *

_Misfits Confidential_

Well, I suppose I should apologize for the relative lateness of this recent update. The only excuse I've really got is that I've been in the midst of changing jobs and undergoing a bit of family troubles. I have to admit that life has been a little weird for me now that I finally got my master's. Maybe this whole being a grown-up thing ain't all it's cracked up to be.

All complaining aside, I hope you guys enjoy the latest story, which will probably take me through the rest of the summer to finish. I may lose my mind in the process but, hey, at least you guys can be somewhat entertained.

Now let's get that next chapter preview going!

* * *

_Next Issue Preview_

So just what did Kal-L discover at the fusion between realities? Where will this mysterious portal take our makeshift duo? Well, given that this thing is a Marvel/Misfits crossover than it should be pretty damn obvious, don't you think? Of course, given that Deadpool is one-half of this particular pair, it's safe to say that there will be a bit of noise and plenty of opportunities to prove that he's better at whatever Wolverine does. Will Joss Whedon ever be properly punished for the horrendously lame way he killed off the grade-school crush of our enterprising author? Will Bob the Hydra Agent ever learn how to drive a stick shift? Find out the answers to half of these gripping questions in the next installment of _With Apologies to Bea Arthur_: Anger. . . with a Vengeance. Until then, remember to say what you think and write what you feel!


	2. Anger with a Vengeance!

Chapter Two

Anger. . . with a Vengeance

Kurt Wagner was rushing to recover his senses even as his body pushed itself through a familiar pattern of preservation, his tall and thin leg and trunk muscles pushing the rest of his frame through a nearly flawless somersault as the rest of him plummeted towards the pavement below. He could feel the stale, rank air passing through his nostrils and ruffling his indigo-colored fur as he came closer and closer to the ground, his equilibrium still shaky as the ground seemed to spin in front of his eyes. The trip through the mysterious portal he had all but been forced through left his gut rumbling and his muscles feeling like jelly but the instincts born under Margali's center ring and honed through countless hours in the Danger Room allowed him to remember what needed to be done to keep himself safe. Though the landing was more than a bit shaky and not entirely worthy of applause, the desperate cavorting was more than enough to keep him on his three-toed feet, his glinting, yellow eyes already working to take in everything around him.

Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary, at least in terms of the circumstances at hand. The faint smell of aged refuse still hung about the dark alleyway and the brief scants of recent rainfall mixed with the already unpleasing tableau to make for a distasteful but not unsurprising bouquet. A quick glimpse of the paved roads nearly fifty yards away revealed little more than the sparse afternoon traffic that could have been found in the center of any major metropolitan city. More importantly, there were no flying cars or little green men or any other bizarre phenomenon that would indicate that he was now on some alien realm or distant timeline and the thought of that prompted the devout Christian to let out a brief sigh of relief.

_Still, that hardly means that everything is as safe as it seems_, the mutant known by many as Nightcrawler reminded himself while fighting back another wave of nausea, his long fingers quickly reaching into one of the pockets of his black and red battle armor. _I must find a safe spot to recover from all of this before I continue investigating. _

A brief perusal of his cellular phone revealed that the usually reliable communication device had been rendered useless, the small screen providing little more information that a garbled series of pixels. Although he would have normally be up to the mercies of Kitty or Peter when it came to fixing such a problem, Kurt was enough of a technophile to realize there were a number of reasons for such an occurrence, the consequences of which ranged from mildly inconvenient to highly distressing. Nevertheless, his quick, nearly instinctual sidle into the nearby shadows was done before his active mind had realized it, the shade provided by the steel stairwell above his head casting his lithe, athletic form into near darkness. Feeling mildly safer in spite of himself, the swashbuckler shut his eyes and centered his thoughts, a long-learned move taught to him by Professor Xavier as a method of getting in touch with his fellow teammates through the X-Men's litany of telepathic measures.

"WOOOOHOO!"

An effort that was being made a great deal more difficult by the ramblings and cavorts of his highly unlikely companion. Snapping his eyes back open, Nightcrawler took a moment to stop and stare as Wade Wilson pulled off a perfect double somersault before breaking into an odd dance consisting of seemingly random series of kicks and shoulder sways. It was quite apparent that the bloodthirsty mercenary hadn't been the least bit disturbed by the physical mayhem inflicted upon them within the portal or had at least recovered from the strain with the aid of his extensive healing abilities. Despite the irritation that such a circumstance could have caused, the elfin-eared mutant couldn't help but let a fairly diverted chuckle creep from his lips as Deadpool began to twirl one of his katana above his head like a hyperactive band leader.

"Why do I have a feeling that you know something that I do not, Herr Deadpool?" Nightcrawler asked as smoothly as he could.

The self-styled Merc with The Mouth suddenly brought his frolicking to a stop, the cease in motion so sudden that the tip of the blade in his right hand briefly grazed against the top of his adjacent shoulder blade. "Ah, so you're here too, huh, Elfie?" The red-and-black garbed assassin merely shrugged his shoulders at this realization, the compulsion to take in his intriguing surrounding simply too much for him to ignore. "Awwwww, why did I have to be dropped off here in the afternoon? How the hell am I gonna see the Batsignal? How am I going to fully appreciate the gothic architecture?"

Nightcrawler wasn't entirely sure what confused him more: the possibility that Deadpool seemed to know everything that was going on or the fact that he was inclined to believe that he did. He had been told of Deadpool's unique awareness, for lack of a better word, after being all but forced to lend a helpful ear after one of Logan's failed attempts to bring in the slippery former inmate of Weapon X. Of course, hearing about it and not being able to believe it and being able to witness it and not understand it were two altogether different matters and the latter was something that Kurt realized he was going to have to deal with.

"Herr Deadpool, whether you know of this place or not, it would be wise for the both of us to lay low and stick together," he reasonably suggested, his long arms lowered in a gesture of appeasement. "It would be hard to believe that this sudden jaunt was nothing but an accident and, until we know more. . ."

Even the mask that fully covered his face could not hide the disdain that Wade Wilson held towards such a suggestion. "Are you kiddin'? We're in Gotham City, Boris! This is an opportunity to put ourselves on the map in two different realities! Ooh! Maybe I can get myself restrained by Wonder Woman and her magic lasso. I mean there's a lot I've got to get off my chest and I'd like to try and be a really naughty boy."

"Mister Wilson, please!" Nightcrawler exclaimed, the veteran X-Man reaching out a hand to grasp Deadpool's shoulder and pull him back before he could escape the narrow passageway. "We must not draw attention to ourselves!"

"ORIGAMI!"

Nightcrawler felt more annoyed than hurt as Deadpool punctuated his bizarre war cry by tossing him into the nearby brick wall. Letting out a sigh of impatience as his rib cage throbbed in irritation, the master teleporter put his chief mutant gift to good use. Catching up to the speedy mercenary with a flash of brimstone, he leapt upon Deadpool's back once again, his right foot digging into Wade's wounded shoulder before teleporting the both of them back to their original spot. Only seconds passed before Wade made another break for it and an even shorter span of time until Kurt had dragged him back, the shorter of the two swordsman sweeping his pointed tail behind him in a gesture of mild irritation as the two of them came to a stop.

"Ugh," Deadpool grunted while quickly swiping his right hand in front of his face. "Ever thought of checking your underpants after those bamfs of yours?"

"I will not have you endanger us by allowing you to pretend to not know what is going on around you!" Nightcrawler fired back with a soft growl, the former leader of Excalibur easily weathering the pointed jibe.

"Oh, COME ON!" Deadpool yelled back, a distinct whine in his voice as he struggled to break the grip the stronger fellow had on his right wrist. "I was capable of hiding out in San Francisco six months before you guys moved in and you X-Chickens still didn't even know I was there until I showed up on your doorstep! Oh, and sorry if the welcoming committee was a little belated."

Nightcrawler narrowed his eyes as he allowed the logic to sink in, his response prompting Deadpool to smirk through his mask as he easily slipped free of the restraint put upon him. He only needed a second or two to peruse his options and make a decision, a moment of time that Deadpool eagerly spent by leaping onto the hanging stairwell and dashing up the tenement building at an impressive clip. He knew that there was little chance that he could continue holding back the hectic anti-hero while continuing to search for clues concerning where they happened to be and why they were here. Deciding to choose the best option available to him, he said a brief prayer for Wade Wilson before melting back into the shadows, his unique form allowing him to make it look as if he was never there to begin with.

* * *

It had taken ten minutes for Deadpool to find a halfway decent means of calling attention to himself. And, yes, as much as he could beat himself up for taking so long to think of something, he was fairly certain that the appropriateness of his final decision was enough to make up for a little bit of the wasted time. The citizens below certainly seemed to agree with him, at least judging from the way that a healthy percentage of them were scurrying for cover, but the fact remained that Wade couldn't help but think that he could have done better if he had that megaphone.

_BLAM!_

"BRING OUT YOUR DEAD!!"

_BLAM!_

"BRING OUT YOUR DEAD!!"

Now, granted, the bank office wasn't nearly as imposing as the Pemberton Hotel but the fact that he was standing on top of the building, rather than at the bottom, at least gave him the advantage of height over volume. He took heart in that while firing off another round from his customized Winchester into the air, the shrouded hired gun being careful not to fire directly overhead so that the spray of bullets wouldn't land back down on his head. After all, the effort it took to removal shrapnel out of the top of one's head usually tended to be way more trouble than it was worth. The mild degree of chaos spawned by each and every shot filled his cancer-ridden heart with glee as he once again broke into a little jig.

"NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-DEADPOOL! NA-NA-NA-NA-NA. . . hey, I wonder where all those police dirigibles are at? I mean, it looked like you couldn't throw a rock without hitting one of those things in the cartoon! I want my blimps, damn it!" Wade exclaimed as he fired another shot in the air. "I want to talk to Chief O'Hara! Where the hell is that Egghead guy? I wanna be a contendah!"

It took about a half of a second for Deadpool to realize that he had just been disarmed. Mildly discouraged by the occurrence, and not just because of the fact that he had lost his core source of making noise.

"All right. There's no need to get yourself down," Wade assured himself, his arms stretching and lowering in a failed effort to bring peace to his severely troubled mind. "Any one of them could have pulled that off," he reasoned while reaching for his left hip holster. "Maybe I won't have to deal with the guy in the big, red con. . ."

His MP7 had been pilfered before he could even completely free the firearm from its resting place, the audible _whoosh _that had preceded the thievery prompting Deadpool to let out a groan of annoyance. His frustration only intensified as his attempt to bring his other Heckler & Koch to bear was brought to an end with even greater urgency and he only began to get more and more cheesed as he was forcefully deprived of his katana blades, his hand grenades, his Scorpion mines, his tazers, and even the handy, dandy cudgel that Blind Al had given to him for his 30th birthday. To his credit, it wasn't until the blur of red had mercilessly pantsed him with a swift swipe of his belt that Deadpool broke into a Donald Duck-like temper tantrum, the spastic waving of his arms and legs looking only mildly ridiculous, as far as he was concerned.

"You know, I normally would have brought this to an end by now," The Flash said rather casually, the speedster seemingly more than happy to watch his prey suffer. "If only you didn't move so very slowly."

"Quit cheating!" Deadpool barked out in a scandalized manner while taking a brief moment to keep his Spider-Man boxer shorts hidden from view. "And speaking of which, how come you managed to hit the jackpot with your fateful accident, Mister West? I mean, the only thing I ever got out of being struck by lightning was having all my body hair singed off." The still steaming mercenary took little notice of the shock and surprise on the face of The Fastest Man Alive as he took a moment to search for something to throw. "Then again, I guess the lack of having to get a Brazilian wax saved me a couple of bucks."

"How in the world do you know who I am?" Wally asked, a note of both worry and menace in the young father's voice. The alarm tempted the speedster to lower his body into a familiar battle stance, his legs and arms suddenly bent, locked, and ready to move.

"Ooooh, I know everything about you, Wall-Eye," Deadpool replied while waggling his right ring finger in The Flash's direction, the mercenary suddenly catching an interesting sight out of the back corner of his eye. "In fact, I even know what you're about to do in ooooooh, three-and-a-half seconds."

Wally West let out an aggravated grunt of his own as the annoying stranger took a header right off of the twelve-story building. Wondering why the real psychos tended to show up in the early afternoon, The Fastest Man Alive gave himself just enough time to rub the sleep out of his eyes before dipping into the power provided to him by The Speed Force, his powerful body soon beginning to move at a speed that most people could hardly even fathom. The hypervibration of his molecules that rendered his body into a state of near intangibility was performed with similar grace and effortlessness, the maneuver allowing him to avoid causing any damage to the building around him as he raced to his new destination. In short, all of the preparation and stalling left him with nearly a tenth of a second to properly position himself in order to catch the plummeting man before he could have a painful meeting with the ground.

"HEY, CONVENIENTLY PLACED BOY SCOUTS! IT'S THE FLASH! AND HE SAVED MY LIFE! YOU SHOULD ALL RUSH HIM AND GET HIS AUTOGRAPH!"

The Flash widened his eyes as the unexpected intruder broke free with an athletic leap, the series of unexpected occurrences leaving him little time to prepare for the rush of fresh-faced youngsters looking to have their picture taken with him. Realizing that he had just successfully been played, the crimson-haired speedster did his best to resist the urge to scream and settled himself down with a seemingly casual shrug of his shoulders while patching in to The Calculator's satellite network.

"Looks like I'm going to be held up for a little bit," he announced with a well-practiced ease, his personal space already well encroached upon by little limbs and notepads. "All right, you crazy kids! Who should I make this first one out to?"

* * *

Deadpool couldn't help but feel a little disappointed as he raced down the crowded street, his athletic skills and impressive dexterity allowing him to easily swerve past or bound over the slow-moving traffic. It wasn't as if he disliked The Flash or anything but the simple fact was that he was hoping his first encounter of the DC kind would be someone a little more. . . impressive.

"Maybe if it was Barry Allen," he reasoned while awarding the Polynesian man whose taxi cab he just stomped all over with a cheery wave. The extended middle finger he received in return was hardly the handsomest of rewards but it wasn't as if he had a great deal of time to think it over. "I mean, he was pretty boring too but at least he was the original. Well, I suppose Jay Garrick was the first but I never thought that he should counts. I mean, the guy got his powers from a shiny, silver hat for Pete's sake. How in the world can you take that serious_uck_. . ."

Wade honestly wondered if he could sue someone for all the whiplash he was being forced to suffer through today, his sudden realization that he was on top of yet another highrise taking a surprisingly distant second on his standing list of concerns. That understanding soon dipped to an even more disappointing third place as his retinas recovered from the damage done by the sudden burst of motion and he caught a sight of who had gotten a hold of him. He started with the long legs covered by a pair of modestly fitting pair of black jeans, moved to take in the swell of the woman's hips and the smallish breasts deliciously covered by a blue t-shirt before sweeping his roving eyes across the lady's cheekbones and crystalline blue eyes, the slightly chiseled features only mildly blunted by a slight showing of impatience.

"First of all. . . HELLOOOOOOO, NURSE!" Deadpool exclaimed, the outburst prompting Kara Zor-el to raise a mildly intrigued eyebrow. "Secondly, I was hoping that I could ask why you never went back to your Supergirl outfit."

Though the last three years had caused the half-Kryptonian to become far more accustomed to the unusual circumstances that often came with her line of work, the combination of unusual statements still managed to force her into a momentary stupor. To her credit, however, she managed to recover quickly as she placed her hands on her previously perused hips.

"How about I explain that one to you after your peaceful surrender," she offered kindly, her capricious tone causing the masked man to tilt his head to one side in a genuine display of interest. "After all, it's not like you've yet to do anything more than harass a bunch of people so maybe you should quit while you're ahead?" The masked man seemed to sincerely take in the offer as her communicator let off a brief buzz indicating that someone wanted to speak to her. "Come in," she began, her eyes still locked on the stranger.

"Ooh, is that Niles Crane?" Deadpool asked back, the six-foot, one-inch, 210-pound man hopping about like a seven year old wanting to answer a question in math class. "Hey, Calculatorman! Can I have you as my technogeek instead of Weasel? He keeps trying to take my cheesy poofs and I'd hate to waste any more time stabbing him in his extremities!"

Kara took another moment to regard her prisoner, a swift rolling of the eyes accompanying her perusal as she listened to the information provided to her from the nervous center underneath Wayne Manor. "Okay. Have we found out any reason how this guy could possibly know so much about us?"

"I'm afraid that we're left with little more than theories at the present time," The Calculator replied, a brief hint of aggravation within his usually detached demeanor. "For now, simply contain the unknown and return him to The Batcave so that Batman and Black Dog can examine him more sufficiently."

"Right," Kara replied before cutting off her side of the comm. link, the satellite linkup sizzling to a temporary hold as she gave the masked man another once over. "All right. I don't want to hurt you but I'm going to have to ask you to come with me. At least until we can sort all of this out."

"Okay, okay," Deadpool fired back impatiently, "It's just. . . why did ya ditch the whole belly shirt and short skirt thing? I mean, yeah, it wasn't the most functional outfit but I think you could still pull it off."

Kara responded by cocking her head to one side, the young but hardened warrior quickly examining the man's heartbeat to try and see if the question was anything other than an honest query. "I don't know. I. . . I guess it just didn't look really dignified is all." She found herself hemming over the precise wording she would employ, her efforts to find and say just the right words becoming bizarrely intensive. "Plus, I mean, there was always the thing about people taking snapshots of my underwear whenever I flew overhead."

"Point taken," Deadpool reasoned, the mercenary stooping down to take a seat on the nearby rooftop. "But what about 'the S'? I mean, you said you didn't think you earned it but I think you've more than done that by now."

"Well. . . I don't know," Kara stumbled, the 18-year-old slowly choosing to take a seat next to her captive. "I mean, I've done a whole lot of nasty stuff back in my day and. . . and why are you so interested in this?" she added, her suspicions suddenly rising back to where they probably should have been in the first place.

"Wellllllll, it's just that," Deadpool replied with his own share of stalling measures, his head suddenly turned downcast as if he was about to reveal a perilous secret. "You're my favorite Misfit."

"Huh," Kara snapped, her already large eyes widening into almost comical proportions. "Well, um," she continued to hem as she searched for the sanest thing that she could say to that. "You mean, you don't like Robin or Batman or Arsenal more?"

"Nope," Wade said with conviction. "I mean, Roy and Steph are funny and Bruce has got that whole Edward Cullen broodmeister thing happening." _Or maybe it should be Edward ripping off Bruce_, Wade couldn't help but think to himself before shaking himself free of his own pondering. "But you. . . you've really had so much development. You were this real ditzy blonde at first but now you're becoming, like, the strong, feminine voice of reason. That takes some real effort coming from somebody's whose origin is as fucked up as yours."

"Really?" Kara asked with genuine surprise, the slayer of The Anti-Monitor suddenly feeling the need to hide behind her shoulder-length curtain of blonde hair. "Well, uh, thanks, I guess."

Deadpool responded with what he hoped to be an encouraging nod before leaping to his feet. "Tell you what," he began, his sudden burst of motion putting Kara into a subtle state of guardedness. "How about ya give me a Supergirl-level thump. Come on! Right in the mush!"

"WHAT?!" Kara spat out, the lover of The Black Dog now hopelessly thrown. "I don't. . . I don't think that's a good idea."

"AW, COME ON!" Deadpool insisted, the crackpot murderer-for-hire now so wrapped up in his own eagerness that he began hopping on the balls of his feet. "I've got this super-duper healing factor so, unless you knock my head off, I'll be hale and hearty in just a couple minutes so. . . come on and just give me a good one!"

"No way!" Kara said with adamancy, her slim arms sliding across her chest as she began to float several inches above the ground.

"Please? I promise I'll turn myself in quietly if ya do it!"

"_I've already captured you_!" Kara couldn't help but loudly point out. "I can fly you back to our base so fast that you wouldn't even know you were moving until we got there!"

Deadpool, however, was just as determined. "Pweaaaaaassssseeeeee?" he needled while wondering if he could pull off a proper puppy dog look through his mask. He continued holding on to that considerably long e for seconds on end, his prodigious efforts threatening to turn his already mottled skin blue due to lack of oxygen. Keeping his efforts up as Kara let out a tired sigh, he almost let out a cheer as the former Supergirl sent him flying with a somewhat stern uppercut that landed right on the center of his chin. He spun himself like a top as he coasted into the clouds, a gleeful "WHEEEEEEEEE!" passing through his lips as Kara looked up at him in utter disbelief.

* * *

Caught in the throes of celebrating his ninth birthday, young Brandt Ray appeared to not have a care in the world as he joyfully swung between the steady arms of his mother and father as they walked down the crowded street. His eyes were still sparkling at nearly everything he had seen on the enormous movie screen, his blissfully juvenile mind wafting towards dreams that he would like to fulfill as he grew older and wiser, the ambitions ranging from the somewhat realistic to the amiably asinine.

"I still think that was an awfully violent movie," he dimly heard his mother say, the boy's concentration more centered upon swinging his legs as high as he could. "And all that cursing. . ."

"Oh, since when were you such a worrywart," his father countered, the playful tone filling Brandt with an anxious note of happiness. Taking a moment to decide that the man swinging him about was quite a hero (although hardly as cool as Optimus Prime), the boy let out a loud burst of laughter as his proud poppa continued his counterargument. "It's this little guy's birthday and, as far as I'm concerned today, whatever the boy wants, he gots!"

"Well, let's see you keep saying that as we're cleaning up after the birthday party," Brandt's mother replied, the mildly aggravated woman ceasing her own efforts to lift her child into the air in order to bend her knees and come to eye level with her only child. "Unless _you're_ gonna clean up for us," she offered with her own sense of mischief, the good humor punctuated by a playful buss on the cheek that made the boy toggle between embarrassment and happiness. The laughter that came from his mother and father quickly ended the hasty debate and the young family were soon completely caught up in the joy of the life they had, the happiness that only a family could truly share as they turned down a street way and continued to make their way towards their tenement home.

However, this is a world where such profound though simple pleasures can be taken from anyone in an instant, often in times where we're the least prepared to properly fight for what we already have. The old adage continued to hold true as two men emerged from the shadows, the experienced denizens quickly spying the unknowing prey and slipping into range with a well-practiced maliciousness. The first gun was in front of the mother's face before any of their victims knew that they had become the prey, the surprise brought about by the unwanted encounter offering more than enough time for the gunman's colleague to wave his own gun in front of the boy's face.

"Now you're just gonna give us your purse and your wallet real quick now," the second mugger said with steadily rising speed and volume, the excitement of a clean and easy job causing a hungry glint to make its presence within his eyes. "Right now and none of you'll get hurt, especially the kid here."

A potentially crippling fear took full hold of the young child as the handful of seconds passed as thick as the syrup he had poured over the pancakes during his special birthday breakfast. There was no way that he could have recognized the scent of gun oil but it still had no trouble at all with hanging in the youth's nose and pushing down his throat, that lingering aroma lingering about the deaths of so many working quickly to make its indelible mark upon him. As long as he would remember that, however, what would really remain in the boy's thoughts after this day had passed was the sudden burst of noise that rang in his tiny ears and the horrific stench that came with it. The boy let out a jump as one of the bad men was flung against the unforgiving brick, his glinting, silver gun clattering to the pavement as he shut his eyes in pain. The second gunman quickly became frantic by all the unexpected noise, his hands shaking as he anxiously searched for his friend's assailant.

"Sorry, _mein freund_," hissed the devilish looking monster in the corner of Brandt's eyes. "But someone in your line of work would do well to be aware of what lies waiting for you in the shadows."

The child let out a gasp as the other bad man was scuttled head over heels before painfully colliding into a gathering of recycling receptacles, the force of the impact causing the large bins to tumble over his already unconscious form as the sounds of crashing plastic rang out over the narrow alleyway. Still, as intriguing as that sight could have been, it didn't take much at all for the boy to shift his sights and look upon his family's rescuer. He took in the creature's dark blue fur, his soft, pupiless eyes, and the black and red vest that reminded him of one of the acrobats in the circus he saw a couple months ago and suddenly felt the urge to step forward and look closer at this bizarre work of nature. His parents did not attempt to stop him as he reached up and touched the beast's face with his palms, the short hairs tickling his palms as the examiner and examinee shared a kindly smile.

"Please, do not be alarmed," Nightcrawler said softly and with the utmost care, his body remaining completely still thanks to the persuasion of so many past encounters. "I only wished to help."

Kurt believed that the mother would scream or that the father would shout at his son to get away from him. There was only a small, foolishly hopeful part of him that guessed that the two parents would slowly pull their child back towards them with only the slightest trace of alarm, a grateful look in all three pairs of eyes as they each thanked him profusely until he finally told them that he needed no such gratitude. The unforeseen fruits of his labors prompted Nightcrawler to look at the family well after they were set to scurry back to where they belonged, the possibilities behind such a reaction excitedly percolating within his already busy mind.

His senses quickly returned to full alarm as he heard the wind shifting above him. His teleportation to a spot twenty feet in front of him was all but instinctual, the additional distance from where he thought the noise had originated allowing Nightcrawler enough time to look up and see the two disguised figures swooping downward. He had to confess that it was quite the impressive sight, the torque provided by the strangers' zip-lines turning what would have doubtlessly been a death dive into a smooth glide down to the ground below. The masks around their faces was a source of both alarm and intrigue as neither figure made any effort to raise one of their many weapons against him. Still, it didn't take much for him to keep at least part of his attention focused upon the bow strapped to the woman's back or the bladed boomerangs and gas grenades clustered around the man's belt.

"Nice moves, stranger," the blonde-haired archer said cheerfully, her slight face brightened by a roguish grin. "Any chance that you can teach me how to do that?"

Wagner tilted his head to one side, his instincts still on alert while his urge to step into the spotlight spurned him forward. "Well, I do try to perform my share of good deeds," he said with what he hoped to be a charming smile. "Even if I don't know just where my feats will draw me favor."

The chuckle that came from the woman's lips provoked the shadowy man to silence his comrade with a sharp glare. Stuck in the silence, the German-born mutant took a moment to examine the obvious leader of the pair, the black-and-blue armor, cape, and cowl briefly tempting him to think that he was being confronted by something that had dove straight out of a cartoon. Of course, he also would have been a fool not to realize either the strength in the man's countenance or the determination and awareness rooted within every little action.

"We know that you're not supposed to be here," the man began, the phrasing of his introduction causing Nightcrawler to understandably narrow his eyes in concern. "I understand that it would be difficult for someone in your current state of affairs to trust anyone but we would like you to come with us. It's the best way that we can help you return to where you belong."

"Ohhhhh, quit being so dark and mysterious," the young woman threw in with a chiding manner, her right hand quick to lift up the mask around her eyes and reveal the blue orbs hidden underneath the cloth. "My name's Cecilia King-Jones. I'll just say that this guy is Batman 'cause if I tell you his real name then he'll get all snippy and sit around in his cave for the next couple weeks or so." She took a moment to stop and wait as her boss continued to silently criticize her. "Oh, and clothing issues aside, we're part of the good guys."

"Is that true?" Nightcrawler asked, his otherwise cheerful retort still tinged with hints of suspicion. "And what makes you think that I should believe you? Or that I am someone you should believe in return?"

The smile on Arrowette's lips grew broader, the gesture prompting Nightcrawler to raise his eyebrows in amused interest. "Women's intuition," she replied, her words causing the longtime X-Man to let out a slow but honest laugh.

* * *

"He'd fwy threw de air wif da greatest uf ease, that dawing yung man on dee fwying twapeze."

Deadpool had always found the task of singing through a broken jaw to be a typically tough road to hoe. Tired of having so many w's in his life, the still veiled hired gun ceased flapping his arms up and down in order to wrap his hands around the lower half of his skull. A quick, sideways push and the refreshingly loud cracking of bones sent him slightly quicker down the road to recovery as he began his downward descent through the Gotham skyline.

"I think I'm in love," Deadpool noted while his two front teeth worked to put themselves back together again. "And I wonder who I'm going to run into next?"

The Crimson Nutcase soon received his answer as he was enveloped by a decidedly green glob of energy that had quickly morphed itself into the spectral equivalent of a baseball glove, the quick formation allowing Wade to briefly become cushioned within the soft matrix. It was quite likely, had his arms not been temporarily pushed behind his shoulders by the impact, that Wade Wilson would have rubbed his hands back and forth in his eagerness to begin this particular confrontation. All the words he had prepared were hastening themselves to be said as a flash of black, green, and orange settled in front of his eyes, the wry smile on the face of the young Green Lantern prompting Deadpool to chuckle in return.

"You know, a lot of people have told me that I'm too curious for my own good," Stephanie Brown confessed to her newfound plaything. "My mom always chewed me out for it whenever I'd sneak into the principal's office to try and change my grades and I can't even bother to count all the times Tim would give me those lectures of his whenever he caught me rooting around in The Batcave. Still, after listening to those first two chats, I've really gotta ask. . ."

Assured that her newfound catch wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, the fourth person to don the mantle of Robin swooped in to give Deadpool a closer look.

"Mister Obviously a Deathstroke Wannabe," she continued, the wordy designation causing her to break into a toothy smile. "Exactly what do you know about me?"

Deadpool took a moment to think that over, a space of time just long enough to gnash his teeth in frustration at the fact that his long-desired opponent had drawn the first bit of metaphorical blood. "Well, your name is Stephanie Brown, you're a Green Lantern, you wear a size 32-B even though you could probably be wearing something smaller," he countered, the third fun factoid causing Robin to raise her eyebrows in unwanted interest. "Oh, and you were originally the author's representation of both how he'd like to see women portrayed in comics and what he'd like his little sister to be. Well, if he had one, anyway."

Stephanie took a moment to let Deadpool's words seep in and the previously mentioned initiator of the ongoing action let out another tired sigh. "Is that right? Well, I suppose that I can just slide all this weirdness off as just another Friday. Or Saturday or Sunday, depending on how busy the week happens to be," Stephanie considered.

"Oh yeah," Deadpool quickly agreed, the quick nodding of his head punctuating his easy concurrence. "Still, given the whole baseball glove thing, I'd probably be a little disturbed with how comfortable you are with handling balls. Just screams sexual frustration issues, it does."

Stephanie let out a disgusted grunt as she crossed her arms across her chest. "Really? A penis joke is the best you can do? Well, how about I just say that you don't have enough stick to get it out of the park?"

"You could do that," Deadpool reasoned, a good portion of him equally disappointed by his sudden lack of creativity. "Still, all this kind of banter is not something I would expect out of my own personal Al with dwindling breasts."

"Welllllll, I don't know if you can make that kind of crack," Stephanie fired back with upturned eyebrows. "Now, maybe if you decided to go with a Doctor Phlox joke, you might actually be ready for the big leagues."

"Ooh, a rare Bakula maneuver!" Wade Wilson exclaimed, the infamous loudmouth almost ruthlessly impressed. "Man, you really are a not-so-closeted nerd, aren't you?" Realizing that he was about to get onto a track he no longer wanted, the deformed star of the show finally eased his fervor for a war of words. "But, seriously, I would like to offer you an exclusive opportunity, one that has only been offered to only a chosen save for one sad moment when I was strung out on lime vodka and a bunch of Roofies that The Punisher slipped into my glass."

"Oh yeah?" Stephanie asked with mild interest, her interest in the war of words almost on the cusp of dwindling. "I'm not about to be told about the wonders of Amway, am I?"

"Oh, no, I wouldn't do that to you," Deadpool said in a gesture of appeasement, his desire to make his intentions clear oddly taking precedent over his desire to counteract with a juvenile insult. "What I'm proposing is that you join me as my youthful sidekick. Now, granted, most people think that you're getting a little long in the tooth for something like this but, trust me, if I can take you on as Kid Deadpool then both of our royalty checks are gonna go through the roof! I mean, I'm talking a Ryan Reynolds and Hayden Panettiere film trilogy with beaucoup box office!"

Stephanie began her response with a hesitant frown, the opening salvo already punching a hole through Deadpool's dreams. "Gee, I don't know. First of all, I've always seen myself as being played by Allison Mack. Or Michelle Trachtenberg if she put on a little muscle mass. . ."

"We can make that happen! We can make. . . that. . . happen!" Deadpool assured her with a level of conviction that would make Jerry Maguire proud.

"Secondly, I'm already somebody's junior partner." Stephanie went on, a tone of conviction and cockiness clear as day within her voice. "The Alpha and Omega of junior partners, as a matter of fact."

"Please," Deadpool replied with a derisive snort. "If anything, Arrowette is Bruce's sidekick now. I mean, it's not like you go on patrol with big, bad Christian Bale with his silly grating voice now, do you?"

"It's Batman _and Robin_," Stephanie hissed back through clenched teeth. "Batman and Arrowette doesn't even make sense from an alphabetical standpoint!"

"Are you sure? 'Cause Bruce and Cissie: The Legendary Journeys sounds like money to me."

"Batman and Robin," the youngest of Earth's Green Lanterns insisted, the former Spoiler determined not to accept any other distinction. "Accept. . . no. . . substitutes!"

"Oh, fine! Well, if you're gonna be that way about it, I guess I've just got one question left to ask you."

"And that would be?" inquired Deadpool's would-be subordinate, the mere thought of a certain Gold Medal winner stealing her spotlight still causing the hairs on the back of her neck to rise in exasperation.

"Ya ever do a dead wood?"

Wade Wilson knew he was in trouble as the palpable jade aura around Stephanie's body began to dissipate, the bright and cheery sight soon being replaced by a startlingly cold shrewdness. As if that wasn't enough, the girl's shift into a dangerous, predatory grin was nearly enough for Deadpool's balls to shrivel up and recede somewhere over by his belly button, the realization that he had gone too far coming far too late to help him.

"Kara brought you up here," Stephanie said rather coldly. "So I'm just going to hypothesize that you'll survive this too."

* * *

_Five minutes later_

_KLAAAAAAAAANG!_

Wade Wilson didn't bother to stop and think about the irony of falling into an open dumpster for the second time in the last month. After all, the fact that performing such a feat had once been a childhood dream of his was enough to set his lips into a frown and, given his current state of affairs, that kind of muscle movement probably wasn't the least bit wise in his current state of affairs. To his credit though, he still managed to put together enough testicular fortitude to slowly make his way back to his feet, the prerequisite banana peel still perched on the top of his badly beaten skull as he limply crawled his way out.

"Been a long w_oof_. . ." he began, the pained fellow quite thankful to the space gods above that he didn't manage to land on his face upon tumbling out of the mold-ridden receptacle, ". . . long time since I've had a lady try and break my bones in alphabetical order." He let out an aggrieved groan as his legs put themselves back together again. "Didn't even. . . didn't even have to pay for it this time."

Deadpool passed by the next couple seconds or so touching his tongue to the roof of his mouth, his eyes blearily fixed upon his toes as the bones around it began to heal. He let out a rather shaky rendition of _Some Enchanted Evening _as he finally hefted himself back to his feet, the realization that things could have been going a bit better playfully banging against his skull as the world seemed to turn to cherry gelatin before his eyes.

"Okay. Okay, so we all know who's going to be coming after me next. Now. . . now there's noooooooo way he's going to get in this noodle of mine. Gonna make it a steel trap. Just like the ones Wild E. Coyote used to make."

"_Then how come I'm seein' this rather sordid picture of you beachside an' getting a massage from some bloke with a metal arm?"_

Wade couldn't help but let out a girlish squeak as his expected company finally made his presence felt, the decidedly unmacho reaction to the business at hand causing the slightest of grins to appear on The Black Dog's face. He strolled down the slim passageway, the easy motions of The Misfits' second-in-command quickly bringing him to a point where he could casually lean against the garbage bin that his quarry had just struggled his way out of. He allowed plenty of time for The Merc with A Mouth to skitter away from him, almost childishly curious about what was about to happen next.

"Don't. . . don't think that you're so cool!" Deadpool warned the raven-haired Brit, the shaky candor somewhat blunting whatever intimidation he could have brought to the table. "I mean, you're nothin' but a walking McGuffin with a curved phallic weapon."

"Says the man whose missin' an arsenal after The Flash had his way with ya," Lloyd replied with a simple shake of his head, the easy tone only angering Wade further.

"HEY! Those are just the tools of my trade! I've had plenty of notches on my bedpost and not a one of them is some adopted big sister who took advantage of me! There's those Gwen Stacy robots. . . an'. . . an' Typhoid Mary, well, at least before she went all kookoo for Cocoa Puffs again." Deadpool supposed that he could have been quite grateful to Lloyd Thomas for his choice to remain quiet throughout all of this but he was still too busy thinking. "Ah, and I once made it to second base with Siryn. . ."

"An' there's this Cable guy. . ."

"ALL! MAN! BABY!" Wade insisted, his temptation for hopping up and down in frustration eventually brought under control. "Oh, that is it! I am now officially tired of being everybody's butt monkey," he declared, his hands quickly digging through a nearby pile of refuse in search of something to kill an annoying half-demon with and finding nothing.

"Oh, come on, now," Lloyd said slowly as if he were talking to a fussy child who didn't want to eat his broccoli. "Now we've both got enough gray matter to realize what's going to happen if you choose to throw down so how about we just skip this part? Save yourself a little bit of dignity. . ."

"Forget it!" Deadpool snapped as he brought a garbage can lid to bear, the wounded hired gun more than ready to pull off a throw that would have made Captain America green with envy. "You may have all the big, hullabaloo powers and the suave British accent and the author-appointed hot girlfriend but I've taken on the best the Marvelverse has to offer and come out standing. If I'm going out, I'm gonna do what I can to bring you down with me."

Lloyd remained quiet as he waited for the other shoe to drop.

"And. . . you just shut down my mind, didn't you?"

"Yup."

Deadpool at least had a little time on his hands before his world turned to a rather distressing shade of black.

"Craaaaaaap. . ."

* * *

_Misfits Confidential_

Okay. So maybe it took three-and-a-half days to write 9,000 words. It's still an impressive task, as far as I'm concerned, especially with the new job and the otherwise hectic schedule. Thanks once again to my rabid dozens and dozens of fans, to borrow a phrase from Mick Foley, for reading this opportunity to shatter the fourth wall as many times as possible within a ten week span. I'd like to say that I'm going to get Deadpool under control for the next installment but, quite frankly, I wouldn't be expecting that much out of me. It's hard enough trying to dig through all these pop culture references of mine.

And, speaking of which, howz about a chapter preview, kids? It's what's for dinner!

* * *

_Next Chapter Preview_

Well, it may have taken 40 percent of the story but at least we finally have all the relatively good guys together in one place. So why has Billy Batson brought them together? What discovery has Kal-L made that will help reveal the cause behind the two universes coming together? And just how long can I put off revealing the actual plot of the story when this tale only has five chapters? Find out the answers to these questions and more in the next thrilling installment: _Bargaining. . . with Exposition_. Until then, remember to say what you think and write what you feel!


	3. Bargaining with Exposition!

Chapter Three

Bargaining. . . with Exposition!!

_Earth Space Coordinate 12'42" and 47 degrees – 2,731.25 kilometers from Artificial Dimension Breach #2B79 as classified by the Oa Council_

Given his 50-plus years experience with going toe-to-toe with the best and worst that a number of realities could throw at him, the Superman of Earth-2 usually had little trouble seeing when he would have a hard road to hoe. Just as his adopted father had been so diligent in teaching him that surviving life's difficulties was a task done through patience rather than strength, Kal-L had long endeavored to remember the value of keeping just a little bit extra on the back-burner until the time was needed to bring it to play, that spark of strength and persistence that had seen him through countless situations.

He didn't need that in his battle against Gladiator, whose name he had discovered through the timely assistance of Billy Batson. Whatever advantage the amethyst skinned warrior had temporarily gained was garnered through the element of surprise and the willingness he held in sacrificing his life for whatever his cause happened to be. His latest adversary held neither one of those advantages but, judging from the determined look on the towering man's face and the nearly blind force behind the haymaker that had just crashed against the left side of his jaw, Kal-L quickly presumed that his antagonist didn't think it was necessary. Indeed, the mass of muscle looked almost disgusted as he waited for Superman to rise back to his feet, the self-satisfied smirk that crept onto his lips a near perfect duplicate of the look that greeted Superman when the new opponent first made his impression felt.

The forward rush was frighteningly fast, the velocity of the attack so focused that the golden cape flowing against the man's back almost broke free entirely of the red-and-yellow battle gear it had been fastened to. Kal-L was just a little bit faster however and his quick veer to the right allowed him to easily dodge the assault before delivering a harsh punch to his foe's stern gut. The next dozen or so strikes were delivered with similar speed and efficiency, the short scant of recovery time between each throw of his fists allowing his opponent just enough time to recover and keep himself modestly covered up from suffering too much damage. His opponent's backpedaling was long expected, just as Kal-L's decision to stand by and wait the brief recess out was made with more than enough time, the sight of the broad gashes along the blonde-haired man's left eyebrow and upper lip clear signs as to who had gained the advantage.

The added distance was all that Superman needed to be ready for the storm of energy that poured from his rival's eyes, the aged Last Son of Krypton countering almost instantly with his own wave of heat vision that poured from his steaming pupils. The two mighty forces met quickly but silently within the blackness of space, the struggle lasting for little more than a second before Hyperion's own efforts were pushed back towards him. Any effort that Mark Milton could have made to defend himself from the solar energy being forced down upon him were quickly cut short as Kal-L's left fist crashed into his sternum with such force that the Kryptonian's hand pushed his way straight through his sternum. It was only thanks to his unnatural durability that the defeated man had the chance to howl in agony, the determined glare on the old man's face providing him with a frightening precursor for the reaper that awaited to collect him.

The widening look of alarm and panic on Hyperion's face did not deter the Kryptonian in the least as he began to vibrate each and every molecule in his body with a well-practiced ease. The strain brought upon his anguished foe clearly too much to be properly endured. The long seconds that passed were quick to destroy the once confident murderer from the inside out, his stern frame soon scattered by the surrounding vestiges of a well-traveled solar wind.

_Just like the first one,_ Kal-L observed as his active mind continued to peruse the possibilities. _Something tells me William is going to want to hear about this_.

* * *

_Gotham City – The Batcave_

As was often the case when it came to the things he took pride or comfort from, Kurt Wagner had never been shy when it came to confessing his love for classic films. The star-filled nights he spent huddled within the attics of aged cinemas with his adopted brothers and sisters, his enthusiastic eyes wide with wonder as he pored over the exploits of the greatest heroes of the silver screen, were times he would always consider to be among his most cherished memories. He could still remember how he would draw a deaf ear as his family around him and the audience members below would cheer and laugh and startle with excitement, his attentions firmly focused upon the work of Flynn, Granger, and Hudson. It was there that the restless performer was born, the daredevil that became relentlessly determined to outshine them all one day.

That being said, while the standing results of Nightcrawler's body of work was still up for debate, the indigo-furred mutant was rather confident that he had done his share to show what he could do upon his own chosen stage, or at least enough to find enjoyment within the wonders these deep catacombs had to show him. The various memorabilia and trophies collected by the master of the house each seemed desperately determined to tell him a story, to immerse him within the same types of tales that fascinated him so many years ago as he hung from the rafters. He did his best to listen in to these accounts while still attempting to guess the fates of the characters within them, the situation that had been at hand, and which little events within the yarn had lead to the physical memory being placed at this very spot. There was no way that he could have guessed correctly, of course, but the contest that came with expanding his imagination still made the journey quite worthwhile.

The surprisingly soft steps of well-maintained dress shoes sounded off on the cave floor under Nightcrawler's feet, the noise prompting him to turn towards Alfred Pennyworth with a rather sheepish smile. "Please forgive me. Given sights such as these, the desire to explore was perhaps a bit much for me."

The kind but understanding smile the butler gave to him in response quickly put Kurt at ease, the younger fellow still somewhat surprised that so many of the people he had encountered in this reality appeared to not be the least bit alarmed by what many would have considered to be his freakish features. "It is quite alright, Mister Wagner," the gray-haired caretaker replied. "If it sets your heart at ease, you are hardly the first person to pay undue attention to the various baubles here before us."

"Ah," Kurt replied with a knowing chuckle. "A longtime colleague of mine would post similar complaints during and after our various forays," he explained as his fingers briefly hovered over the deck of sharp-edged playing cards perched upon a nearby pedestal. "Scott would always chide us for our lack of professionalism or criticize us for diverting from the dream that Charles had laid out for us. Of course, who is left to listen to one whose voice is so strident that it metes punishment upon all objections or kindly advice, _ja_?"

"Quite so," Alfred countered, a hint of prudishness within his quick relent as he rose to his full height before crossing his arms across his modest gut. "Would this 'Scott' be relegated to the task of maintaining your various memorabilia during your times of presence and absence by any chance?"

"I'm afraid that he did not even have that defense," Kurt answered, his long fingers now sorely tempted to reach for one of the masterly made epees and cutlasses safely nested within the various apertures of a nearby cabinet. "Such exquisite craftsmanship. . . I must confess that I have always had an admiration for artful weaponry such as this."

"Is that right?" Alfred asked, his keen mind beginning to make some half-hidden connections as his face threatened a smile.

"Ah, yes," Nightcrawler replied, his eyes fully upon a particularly sharp cutlass that Alfred's master had liberated from the clutches of Ra's Al-Ghul. "My heart was always drawn to pirates and swashbucklers as a child. Such stories have fascinated me ever since I had the pleasure of watching _Scaramouche _in the old theater in Gorgoli."

"Well, you appear to have quite an eye for the silver screen," Alfred guessed. "I don't suppose you enjoyed _The Mark of Zorro_ by any chance?"

The dreamy, almost childish smile was all the reply that Alfred needed. "Ah, yes. I've always had a weakness for the silent films of old. It would always be easier for me to pretend that it was I upon the screen. Are you a fan, Herr Pennyworth?"

Alfred let out an amused sigh. "I'm afraid I've always found it to be a rather acquired case," he answered shrewdly, the carefree shrug of Nightcrawler's shoulders a strong indication that he took no offense. "My apologies for the interruption but your presence has been requested. They are awaiting you within the cave's central chamber.""

Nightcrawler needed only a moment to turn his eyes away from all there was to see and return to the task at hand. "Ach, yes. I shall return immediately. My apologies for the unnecessary excursion, good sir."

The longtime X-Man took just enough time to properly receive Alfred's returning nod before returning to perch upon a file cabinet that stood adjacent to the trio of Cray supercomputers which stood at the center of The Batcave. Traveling nearly 75 yards in a fraction of a second, his ability to access pockets of space available only to a select few had turned what most would be an impossible feat into something as simple as breathing. His lithe, lightly fuzzy frame was soon rendered almost completely hidden by the catacomb's looming shadows, the only truly discernible traces of his presence stemming from the glow of his yellow eyes and the potent stench of brimstone that had been dragged with him upon his journey, the bizarre odor quickly wafting through the noses of those around him.

"Awesome," Robin remarked in appreciation.

"Reeking," Arrowette offered in defiance.

Nightcrawler couldn't help but chortle while scratching the back of his head with his long fingers in a somewhat defensive manner, his eagerness for the spotlight merging with an occasional hint of discomfiture. "I will admit that it is not the greatest price to pay in return for the gifts provided by my mutant gene," the X-Man offered. "However, I have also found that there are greater costs available for my kind."

"Is there any significance behind the brimstone filtrate?" Batman asked, his strong right hand wrapped around his chin in a gesture of contemplation. "I ask because one of our comrades shares a similar ability, albeit without the tangible byproduct."

"And the blue fur and cool looking devil tail," Robin added, her unexpected addendum earning her a pointed glare from Batman and a snigger from the elfin-eared mutant in front of her.

"Well, as far as my appearance is concerned, I'm afraid that it is best explained by the old adage 'one may pick their nose if not their family'," Kurt explained, his words bringing a round of smiles and understanding nods that spurred him on to elaborate. "My mother was a shapeshifting mutant named Raven Darkholme and my father was a creature named Azazel, an entity that someone from our reality would describe as a greater demon."

The easy confession caused some widened eyes and one particularly impressed sounding whistle from Kurt's attentive audience. "Sounds like an entertaining family reunion," offered Roy Harper, the sharpshooter known as Arsenal offering his pithy remark while checking the barrel of one of his revolvers for any flaws or scuffs.

"Well, I have tried my best to avoid such gatherings," Nightcrawler gamely countered, his eyes momentarily locked on the red-haired gunman while his words eagerly stretched out to all he could draw in. "Though my unique gifts may have not come from the kindest of sources, the chance I have to employ my talents for a greater good is something I will always consider to be a blessing from God. It has allowed me to find a new home, it inspires my calling to teach the glories of our God and my efforts to protect those who cannot protect themselves and, apparently, it has temporarily led me to all of you."

"Cooooool," Stephanie Brown repeated, her beaming smile continuing to broaden.

"But still smelly," Cecilia King-Jones also recurred, the jocular words earning the archer a playful cuff on the head from her fellow fair-haired Gothamite.

"Well, thank you for the compliment as well as the criticism," Nightcrawler noted with his usually smooth and easy drawl. "Still, I cannot imagine that this is why you have summoned me here."

"Indeed not," Noah Kuttler began, the veteran hacker staring back at Nightcrawler over his well-polished spectacles. "The Black Dog is returning with your fellow dimension hopper despite his phenomenal amount of ineffectual opposition."

Nightcrawler did his best to withhold any grumbling or sighs, the former leader of Excalibur momentarily chastising himself for his short-lived irresponsibility. "Allow me to once again apologize for his actions. Though I am afraid that I do not know as much about Herr Wilson as I would like at the present time, I have frequently been told that his intentions are generally beneficial, if a bit skewed."

"What was up with that whackadoodle anyway?" Stephanie nearly snarled while swiping back a strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face. "And how did he know so much about us?"

"I imagine that Deadpool would be more than happy to speak of such manners," Nightcrawler replied, his words almost completely interrupted as the sound of sliding metal echoed from the far western corner of the cave. Shifting his eyes toward the rays of sunlight filtering through the quiet gloom, the veteran swordsman was able to barely catch the blur of red to follow before it slid to a stop nearly 10 feet away from him, the mastery of motion startling even his experienced nerves. The Flash's arrival was soon followed by the graceful, gliding entrance of a woman with long, blonde hair and surprisingly bright blue eyes made to look even brighter by her tasteful attire of a sea-green sweater and dark blue jeans. The raven-haired man flying beside her was similarly dressed though any attempt to look into his eyes were momentarily interrupted by his efforts to carry in the mass of broken bones and stretched muscles appropriately garbed in a familiar red-and-black battle armor. The sight of the foolish lump of skin and bone caused Kurt to sigh while shaking his head back and forth in amazement.

"Hardly the most auspicious way of making your presence felt, Herr Wilson," Nightcrawler reminded his erstwhile partner while examining the damage more extensively. "I imagine that you have something to say for yourself?"

Wade Wilson slowly wafted his head up and down to indicate that he did. "Baaaaat-daaaaance," he rasped out, the bizarre reply causing him to burst out laughing before the blood trapped in his throat caused him to let out a ragged cough.

"I am not even going to ask," Arrowette said while also taking a peek at the shrouded troublemaker, her heart-shaped face tilting to one side as the markswoman leaned in to take a closer look. However, before her examination could go any further, a deafening _KRAAAAAACK!_ resounded through the caverns that forced her and many of the other denizens to startle in surprise. As surprising as the incident could have been, however, the source of the clamor was quick to reveal itself as a golden sigil appeared to etch itself within the solid limestone, the brief smell of ozone making it appear as the essence of nature itself had chosen to make its presence felt.

"Oh my," Nightcrawler observed while momentarily shutting his eyes in response to the sharp luminosity. "I am assuming from the grandiose entrance that this is the one responsible for bringing us together?"

"Most likely," Batman replied, a definitively sour note in his delivery as Billy Batson quite literally brought himself down to earth. "And just what has you brought down upon our doorstep now?"

The youthful heir to the secrets within the Rock of Eternity weathered the critical inquiry with an easy laugh, his left hand rushing through the well-arranged array of black hair on top of his head. "I am pleased to see that all of you have gotten together so quickly," he began while looking upon his selected champions. "I had hoped to hasten the progress myself but I'm afraid that there were other matters that needed tending to. . ."

The god innocently masquerading as a boy then caught a glance of the barely conscious Wade Wilson, the psychotic responding to the newly acquired stare with a cheery, if somewhat tired-looking wave of his left hand as Batson's eyes widened with alarm.

"Okay, I'm finally going to say it," Arrowette finally snapped as the wheels began to turn in Billy Batson's head. "Am I the only person seeing a definite resemblance between this guy and a certain crazy old coot?"

"Dare ya to tell him that," Roy blithely replied while also having no problem making the connection. He would have likely had more to say about the somewhat intriguing matter if it didn't look as if the former Captain Marvel was nearly ready to implode in shock and worry, the young entity's nervousness hastily spreading into everyone around him.

"Oh, dear. Something's gone terribly wrong."

* * *

_Boston _

This was hardly the first time that Slade Wilson had reconsidered his recent change of profession. After all, as troublesome as the life of a professional assassin could occasionally be, it was also a job that rarely ever led to any brooding, stewing, or contemplations of others' unpredictable futures. There was also the freedom that came from killing anyone that he had issues with, a lifestyle option that not only allowed him to quickly rid himself of any annoying nuisances that crawled within his livelihood but also allowed him to further cement his reputation as someone who could finish what you asked him to start, at least so long as you didn't piss him off.

The man known to some as Deathstroke the Terminator took a moment to shake away that dismal line of thinking as he slumped further down into his chair, the most recent of hectic arguments with his daughter still quite fresh in his mind. Resisting the urge to fuss and fester like a wailing brat in a toy store (or a silver-haired, rebellious 19-year-old, take your pick) the former mercenary did his best to restrain himself while diving his hands into the inner recesses of his newfound seat, his skilled fingers searching for the remote control that Rose had doubtlessly left within the cramped passageways. Hardly needing his chemically-borne ability to employ ninety percent of his brain to complete his search, the aged supersoldier soon emerged with his decidedly modest reward and brought it to good use by activating the television in front of him.

"What you gon' do with all that junk? All that junk inside yo trunk?"

"I'ma get, get, get, get, you drunk, get you love drunk. . ."

"Damn MTV," Slade grumbled while hurriedly changing the channel, his desire to avoid anything that could be found the least bit appealing to the mind of a teenager nearly becoming too much for even him to properly control. "Damn stupid teenagers and their music videos. In my day, we had good music," he noted while perusing and passing through CNN, C-Span, and BBC America in quick succession. "Not a bunch of preprocessed refuse that gets played once in a studio before being lip-synched 2,000 times on a live tour."

He resisted the urge to let out a sigh of relief as _The Golden Girls _popped up on the high-definition contraption that his daughter had insisted he buy for her, the mere idea that he could be comforted by such an occurrence threatening to warp his powerful brain. Several seconds passed as he momentarily allowed the not-so-sagely words of Rose Nylund to wash over him like an unexpected balm, the charm of the simple entertainments laid before him making him feel just a little bit better.

Of course, it was the two shots he fired from his revolver towards his unexpected intruder that started off what he imagined would really make him feel better, the pair of rounds embedding themselves into the plaster as his target swiftly leapt to the right to avoid the opening assault. The noise of the canned laughter launching from the speakers was soon forgotten as his acute senses continued to search for how many visitors he had, his sharp ears picking up three different sets of movements before the feral growl of the one rushing up to him finally drew his attention. Dodging the swipe of the man's razor-sharp claws with a well-practiced ease, the Vietnam War veteran swiftly countered by ramming his right knee into his attacker's stomach before twisting his left hand into a knifepoint and stabbing his middle and ring fingers at one of the vital pressure points along his attacker's neck. The results he had garnered from his first successful strike warned him that his precise follow-up would not have the effect he was looking for and that mistake nearly cost him the left side of his abdomen as his opponent ripped a trio of deep gashes along his hip, the efforts Slade made to momentarily shut down the flow of blood to his opponent's brain seemingly not the least bit effective.

"Nothing worse than a new face," Slade noted as he avoided the two-handed lunge that followed by mere centimeters, the timely evasion allowing him to shove aside the claw-wielding man with enough force to send him tumbling into and over the nearby barcalounger. As disappointed as he could have been about the exchange, the need to avoid the blindside rush of the colossal man coming at him quickly took precedent. The metallic-looking appearance of his newest challenger was a mild surprise but nothing he couldn't overcome, the former assassin simply employing his phenomenal reflexes to first slide around the rush before ducking under the swiping backhand that followed. He only needed a fraction of a second to prepare his body for what he needed to do next, his hands grasping his attacker's left wrist with a steady grip as the massive limb swung forward. Pushing his powerful body into a tight forward roll, the veteran of the battlefield wisely employed the added fulcrum to make a short but focused leap that allowed him to lift his 500-pound opponent with ease before flinging him through the western wall of the room with a picture-perfect judo-style arm drag.

The sudden urge to fume over the loss of yet another security deposit was the next priority to be shuffled away as Deathstroke twisted his body through a double forward somersault, the added height made a necessity by the ruby-red lance of energy that easily blasted through the southern wall before missing him by inches. The counter shot from his revolver was an equally near miss, the fact that the newcomer had surprised him leaving Slade mildly impressed as he came to realize the numbers game was getting more than a little dicey. The flash of concussive energy that nearly exploded in front of his eyes merely provided another reminder of his predicament, the conclusion that the blonde-haired female with the disturbingly bright bodysuit had clearly been assigned to the task of disorienting him while her male counterparts did the damage coming quickly to his mind.

_Looks like it's time to cut my losses_, Deathstroke silently decided as while paying close attention as the claw-wielding man in the tan-and-brown battle armor rushed at him once again. Pivoting his body to the right so that the three short blades in his foe's left wrist would sink into his shoulder rather than his heart, the grizzled warrior barely let out a hint of a grunt as he held the bulky fellow down with all the strength his left arm could offer. Sliding to his knees, he tried to not take too much satisfaction as his involuntary shield was pummeled by the optic blast that was clearly meant for him, the impressive impact not only searing off the skin of his unfortunate foe but even doing enough damage to melt the man's neck enough for his head to slump backward in a decidedly unhealthy manner.

"On the other hand, there's nothing more fun than proving an hypothesis," Deathstroke said to no one in particular as he tossed Wolverine's broken body aside, the shower of sparks and the whining of shattered servos providing the last bit of evidence he needed to prove that his attackers were decidedly something other than human. Hungry for more experimentation, the former adversary of The Teen Titans took a moment to send the blonde-haired android scurrying away with a series of gunshots while allowing enough time for the largest of his attackers to rush at him once again. Deciding to let gravity do the work for him once again, Slade hastily slid onto his back before sending the robotic duplicate of Colossus head over heels with a monkey flip, the strength of his leg muscles essentially transforming the large automaton into a quarter-ton missile. The effectiveness of his newfound weapon was soon demonstrated as it crashed headlong into the android that had been pestering him with its optic blasts, the impact enough to snap the head of the visor-wearing robot straight off of its stern shoulders. The combination of a flash grenade and another spray of gunshots was enough to stave off the last robot as he quickly dashed toward the nearby window, his athletic leap through the glass and wood enabling him to avoid the ray of hard light that the female-looking automaton sent his way in response.

It didn't surprise Slade in the least when his three-story trip down to the pavement below did not go on uninterrupted. The fact that the disruption came in the form of a bolt of lightning, however, was more than a bit unexpected and left him quite grateful for the near miss as he soon found solid ground once again, the controlled crash causing a brief spray of dried cement to flutter onto his boots. His eyes and ears were quick to pick up both the white-haired source of the lightning as well as the robot with the blue synthetic fur teleporting at his back, the realization that the two opponents he left behind in the loft would soon be making their return as well.

"All right, so I'm being attacked by robotic equivalent of creatures I don't recognize for reasons that I currently can't understand," Slade noted aloud while keeping an eye on his incoming aggressors. "Something tells me that I should be making my way to Gotham."

* * *

_The Batcave_

"Saaaaaaay. . . what now?" asked Robin as the rest of her fellow Misfits looked on with either growing concern (Bruce, Cecilia, Noah, and Wally), mild annoyance (Kara and Lloyd) or anticipation over who they would have to shoot in order to get back to doing something more enjoyable (Roy). "What do you mean you got the wrong guy? Well, I mean I understand that he could be the wrong guy 'cause he's basically a sex-starved, psychopathic pain junkie. . ."

"Scaaaaaaandalous!" Deadpool screamed back in defiance, his singing voice far too wobbly to be considered lucid under even his standards. "Talkin' 'bout foo and fee," he reiterated before collapsing into another pain-induced stupor.

"Isn't this your job?!" Robin spat out while shooting an angry glare at the self-appointed Merc with A Mouth, the young Green Lantern somehow even more annoyed than Batman about this latest turn of events. "I mean, aren't you supposed to be this Albus Dumbledore type who knows all the secrets and says just a few of them with that charming twinkle in their eye so nobody realizes that you're more than a little creepy?"

Billy Batson, though not entirely certain of what to make of his dubious distinction, did at least try his best to not only display his apologies in the face of all the anger and confusion around him but also keep any possibility of a sparkle emerging from any part of his body as he proceeded with his explanation. "I created a temporary rift within Mister Wagner's universe in order to summon him and his colleague here to this one without risking any further expansions in the chief dimensional breach. However, before I could make my presence felt in that reality, the portal was forced open by Mister Wilson and, given the current state of hyperdimensional travel, there was nothing that I could do to stop it."

"'S all right, Batson," Lloyd said in appeasement, The Black Dog's eyes busy shooting a warning glare at Stephanie in order to quickly silence the complaints of his adopted little sister. "We'll work with wot we've been given."

"Agreed," Kara added, the combined effect of her determination and the Batglare Bruce fired back into the eyes of all possible dissenters finally bringing an end to all complaints. "So what is this about dimensional breaches? Are you saying that our reality and these guys' reality have been merged together somehow?"

"I'm afraid that the situation is significantly graver than that," Batson replied softly. "What is taking place right now is a phenomenon known as a dimensional bleed, an event where a bridge is created between two separate planes of existence that is so vast that aspects of both realities are temporarily able to exist within the same space."

"Welllll, that doesn't sound too bad to me," Stephanie replied while casting a look around to see if anyone was nodding in agreement. Finding none, she was understandably half-hearted when adding, "I mean, I think the world would be a lot cooler if there was two of me runnin' around."

"But two solid forms of matter aren't supposed to be able to inhabit the same space," Batman elaborated, the detective's sharp mind wisely avoiding the myriad of frightening possibilities that could have came with the scenario offered by his junior partner. "And, if what you're saying about this 'dimensional bleed' can be applied on an all-existing scale. . ."

"Indeed," Billy Batson replied, the young immortal unable to hide how impressed he was by the accuracy of Batman's quick conclusions. "The strain would be too much for either reality to maintain its integrity. The flow of duplicate matter would eventually overwhelm both dimensions and cause them to implode upon themselves, a catastrophe that could possibly affect other realities should it not be sufficiently contained."

"Ahhhh," Nightcrawler hummed, the blue-furred mutant nearly surprising himself with how much he was able to take from the complex explanations. "So this is another matter of potentially saving everything in existence, is it?" The potentially frightening realization caused the lanky swashbuckler to momentarily consider his place in life before responding with a relaxed shrug of his shoulders. "Well, it _has_ been a while since I've helped in such a manner."

"Is this something you're used to?" The Flash asked Nightcrawler with an upraised eyebrow, the speedster quickly amused by the blithe display.

"Oh, yes," Nightcrawler gamely fired back. "Why, there was that little incident with The Red Skull and that Cosmic Cube, the one with Kang trying to take over time with some doubtlessly overcomplicated plot." Kurt took a moment to wave his hands about while thinking of other relevant examples, amused by what he could take from what was being offered to him and his erstwhile colleagues. "Ah, and let us not forget the times I doubtlessly had my mind erased after performed other similar deeds of daring-do."

"Oh yeah," Roy Harper said with a knowing nod of his head. "Ya can never forget about them."

"Okay, so we know what we're dealing with and what it could eventually do," Kara broke in, her quick, forward steps briefly bringing her away from Lloyd and closer to their unexpected harbinger. "So who's doing it and what can we do to stop them?"

"I've managed to restrain the physical anomalies to this reality in order to have better control should things get to the worst point. Furthermore, I have asked Kal-L to investigate the bleed in order to help determine the orchestrator of all of this," Billy explained, the mention of the Superman of Earth-2 causing Stephanie to burble excitedly until Cecilia was able to shush her. "As for the matter of who is doing this, the only thing we've been able to truly determine is that, whoever it may be, they are highly proficient in both robotics and dimensional transport."

"That doesn't exactly narrow the field down as much as I would have liked." Batman countered, his mind already abuzz with the possibilities. "But why robotics?"

"Kal-L has run into his fair share of resistance during his investigation. Not enough to be considered an honest threat in stopping him but more than enough for us to realize that we're being watched. More specifically, he has been attacked by robotic duplicates of the most powerful warriors from Earth-616."

"May I ask who they are?" asked Nightcrawler, his brief times spent on the fringes between realities allowing him to recognize the designation of his chosen reality when he heard it. "Or at least who they're supposed to be?"

"Kallark of the Shi'ar Imperial Guard and Hyperion of the Squadron Sinister."

"I see," Nightrcrawler mused while wrapping his left hand around his chin and considered the possibilities. "I've heard of the both of them, the first one a bit more than I would have liked," he confessed while not-so-fondly remembering the power of the sternest of Lilandra's guardians. "However, I must confess that I do not see any connection between them."

"Weeeeeellllll, that one sounds easy peasy to me. . ."

Every eye in the room turned to face Deadpool as he shakily hefted himself back up to a sitting position, the cracking of several of his ribs causing Arrowette to wrinkle her nose in disgust. Taking notice of the attention he was getting, he gave what he thought to be a charming nod to his repulsed audience before continuing to push his point.

"They're both rip-offs of that big, honkin' boy scout of yours. Purple Trojan Man was meant to blatantly copy from the whole alien origin thing while Hyperion is just a shameless fleece of the whole, 'big hero stupidly masquerading as big shot journalist while nobody can seemingly figure out who he is' cockamamie." Deadpool took a moment to soak in all the bewilderment he had spawned with his stunning revelation, the brash buffoon reveling in the confusion he could bring to the matters at hand.

Billy Batson, on the other hand, had a decidedly different reaction. Levitating over to the unlikely source of assistance, the boyish galactic guardian tilted his head to one side as he took a closer look at the unwanted straggler. "Well, I had heard of your unique perspective to interpreting the world around you," he confessed while continuing his once over, "but I never would have believed that it could possibly be translated into something useful."

"No problem, Little Red Cheese," Deadpool said easily, the deformed psychopath taking no real offense to what could have been perceived as unkindly words. "Still, given what I know about the power that be, something tells me that Old Man Supes should be getting his next visitor. . ." He stooped down to check the imaginary watch wrapped around his right wrist while allowing a few seconds to pass by for both accuracy and artistic merit. "Riiiiiiight. . . aboooooout. . . NOW!"

* * *

_The Rock of Eternity _

"All right. There's no need to be alarmed, young man. Just tell me who you are and why you're here."

Kal-L already knew of many of the possible reasons why a stranger would be waiting for him on his return through the portal, the vast majority of them not being the least bit savory for either himself or everything he had been asked to help watch over. As concerned as he was, however, it was the peculiar glow in the man's crystal-blue eyes that momentarily gave him pause. Everything else about the unexpected visitor seemed to fly in the face of what was in those eyes, the long, blonde hair, muscular frame, and yellow-and-black bodysuit giving him the presence of a grand and stalwart hero returning triumphantly to an adoring crowd. It simply didn't fit a man who looked as if he had seen the world burn in front of him time and time again.

"I am. . . The Sentry," the fair-haired stranger said, his delivery slow and shaky as if he couldn't believe it himself. "NO! No! That isn't all of me! My name is Robert Reynolds! I was born in Chicago, Illinois and I. . . I. . . that isn't me either."

The rapid beating of the man's heart revealed to Kal-L that this wasn't another android sent to attack him. Of course, that answered question only led to a plethora of others but his concern for the unknown entity in front of him momentarily overrode his desire for answers. He made sure to be slow and steady with his steps as he crossed the gap between himself and The Sentry, his right hand easily grasping the quivering man's heaving shoulders. "It's all right, son. You're safe here."

"_NO!" _The Sentry nearly howled, the long-forgotten hero throwing off Kal-L's grip with a strength and vigor that momentarily startled the wizened Kryptonian. "I'm not safe! I'm never safe! I'm just dirty! Too unfit! Too unclean!" Another step forward by Superman only prompted him to jump backwards like a frightened rabbit as tears began to leak from his eyes. "You're too good for me. I can't possibly measure up. Not with this _thing_ inside me."

Kal-L's eyes narrowed out of both sympathy and concern, his x-ray examination of The Sentry's body revealing nothing out of the ordinary. "You're from the other reality, aren't you? Do you know what's going on? Did you get here through the bleed?"

The Sentry's eyes grew wide as saucers, his senses apparently clutching to the questions like a drowning man. "Bleed, bleed, bleed," he replied with a sing-song like lilt. "The great pretender wants everyone to bleed except me. He said that he wanted to see you die extra 'cause you didn't belong. He wanted me to do him that favor but I just couldn't. That's why he bit into him. Sunk his teeth into the worst parts of him."

Earth-2's Superman had been on enough battlefields to know madness when he saw it, to realize when a brave soul had simply seen too much in too short an amount of time. He briefly wondered just who was the man in front of him before everything happened to him, fought himself over whether he could or should help the broken soul. Of course, it was these contemplations that allowed him to be caught momentarily unawares as a hard fist crashed into the small of his back, the speed and strength of the arm that came from it enough to throw him hard into an array of crystal monitors that Billy frequently used to see what was going on around him. As he shakily stumbled back to his feet, his vision momentarily swathed in red, it still didn't take long at all for him to recognize the attacker. Indeed, it was someone he had always known.

"Always being compared. Always being ridiculed. Always being said I was second best and never being the one that people want to be!"

Kal-L could only watch as The Sentry scurried away in fright of the newest arrival. As much as he wanted to help the stranger, the madness, hatred, and frustration in the more recognizable face was something that forced him to attend to it.

"Clark?! What in heaven's name are you doing?"

Kal-El, the Superman of Earth-1, began his retort with a hate-filled snarl. "I deserve to be the one being tested! I've proven myself time and time again and still I'm denied what I've earned so long ago!"

"What you want?" Kal-L asked, his mind still struggling to peace the bizarre puzzle together. "You know this isn't you, son. Whatever this is you're going to have to fight it."

"But I am fighting it," the younger Superman countered with a dangerous and toothy smile. "And once I kill you, I can finally prove that I'm better than you ever were!"

* * *

"All right, we've run over the small stuff so let's get to the big enchilada here," Arsenal broke in, the metaphor earning him a thumbs up from Deadpool that thankfully was ignored by everyone around him. "How do we stop this dimensional bridge or whatever from annihilating everything?"

Billy Batson, as deities are often so fond of doing when being interpreted by mortal beings, chose to answer the valid question by asking one of his own. "Are any of you aware of the Wiccan Rule of Three?"

"Whatever energy a person puts into the world, be it positive or negative, will be returned to that person thrice fold," Kara answered, the verbatim reply earning her a variety of interested looks.

"Been studying your boyfriend's work habits, have you?" asked The Flash with a knowing smile.

The Last Daughter of Krypton fired back at both the answered and unanswered question by primly crossing her arms across her chest. "And just how did a car mechanic ever come to learn so much about investigative journalism?"

"Point taken," Wally relented while throwing up his hands, the gesture earning him a laughably smug grin from both Kara as well as her aforementioned lover. "Okay, so we know the Rule of Three. Doesn't really explain how we can put a stop to all of this though."

"Opening up a dimension breach like that would require an enormous amount of eldritch energy," The Black Dog began, the British half-demon feeling confident that he knew enough of the matter to give a knowledgeable reply. "That much energy couldn't be kept in one place for long without some pretty dangerous consequences to the caster. It would only be safe if they split up the residual backwash of the spell onto a different number of sources."

"And would it be safe to say that this sorcerer would most likely divide that energy into three separate parts?" Nightcrawler hypothesized.

"Well, it'd be the safest way to do it," Lloyd answered.

"And if we shut down those three source points," Batman continued. "We should be able to stop the spell and close off the bleed."

"SWEET!" Stephanie said while pumping her fist in the air. "And I am soooooo glad I didn't have to do any of that detective work. So, any idea where these mystic whatsits are at?"

Billy almost felt the need to pause and see if anyone else could provide the answers, the shock of how much those around him had already established surprising even someone with the wisdom of Solomon. After a couple of silent seconds provided him with enough confidence that he could retake the floor, he went on. "Kal-L and I have managed to shut down the focal point at the physical sign of the bleed. Now all that is left is the source of the magic itself and the triangulation mark between the caster and the physical source."

The meaning behind Batson's words caused Batman to crease his forehead with such fervor that even the hard material of his cowl seem to knit up in frustration. "And just where is that mark?" he asked with a menacing growl.

Even Shazam's most beloved pupil felt a little afraid to answer right away.

"Gotham."

"Greeeeeeat," Arrowette said while resisting the urge to slap her hand against her forehead. "'Cause, you know, it's not like the gates to hell can ever open up in Jersey like it's supposed to."

"ALL RIGHT!" Deadpool added with a yip, the happy dance he chose to break into crushing his partially recovered right lung against his still broken ribs. "Gonna save a couple realities and stay in Gotham the whole time we're doin' it! Why, I can feel my Q rating going up as I _YOUCH!_"

No one bothered to lend the blood-soaked mercenary a hand as he fell to the cave floor in a very ungainly manner, his awkward fall brought about by the equally ungainly rush of a frantic computer expert.

"Everyone! The G.C.P.D. radio band has just become completely swamped!" Noah Kuttler said in a frenzy, the middle-aged hacker apparently not even noticing that he had just caused one of their guests an impressive degree of bodily harm. "The security measures in Arkham Asylum have been completely shut down and the inmates are making a full escape."

"Do we know what caused the shut down?" Batman asked quickly but strongly.

"No cause has yet to be determined," Noah replied with definitely less decorum. "It's. . . it's as if everything shut down for no logical reason."

United by a shared understanding, the other denizens of The Batcave all took a moment to let everything settle in by employing their own individual means and ends. Wade Wilson, for example, suddenly felt quite disappointed at how a certain author had chosen to gloss over what many people would consider to be an important plot point in favor of meeting his deadlines.

Roy Harper, on the other hand, chose a more gallow-worthy route. "So Arkham Asylum, which has been running almost perfectly ever since Lloyd's old boss put his money into it, suddenly decides to shut down for no real reason?"

Another handful of seconds passed as reality's chosen champions silently dared one another to speak.

"Well, surely this has nothing at all to do with the cataclysmic magical catastrophe that's causing reality to be warped around us," Nightcrawler openly pondered, the murky humor earning him a small round of chortles from his compatriots.

Batman turned to glare at Batson, the silent order to bring a stop to the chatter immediately followed by each and every one of his soldiers. "Find a way to put a stop to whatever's going on. We'll do our job here."

"Of course," Batson replied, the spell he would need to bring himself back to the Rock of Eternity already on the tip of his tongue.

"Whatever," Deadpool barked out in what could only be considered a scornful manner. "All I care about is calling shotgun for The Batmobile."

"He is not coming with us," Batman growled, his voice holding a conviction that he usually reserved for dearly departed family members. In response, his second-in-command let out a sigh while rubbing his right thumb and ring finger against the bridge of his nose, the somewhat experienced leader quickly but reluctantly choosing to perform his duty.

"Well, look at it this way, boss. Would you prefer to leave him here?"

* * *

_Interstate 65 – 11.4 miles from Arkham Asylum_

"OOOOOOOOH! I am _so _marking out right now!" Deadpool shouted while drumming his hands against the surprisingly soft leather beneath him. "I'm in The Batmobile and I didn't even have to wear the pixie shorts!"

Batman wisely bottled up his first, second, and third instinctive responses to his noisy companion while patching a controlled portion of his cerebral cortex into The Misfits' shared telepathic link. _"Team One, what's the situation?"_

"_Not sure what to make of it yet," _The Flash crisply replied, his troubled thoughts running along much the same wavelength of the comrades around him. _"All the inmates are out but none of them are attempting to escape. They're just. . . lining up in front of the place like they're waiting on somebody. Should we move in?"_

"_Negative," _Batman quickly answered. _"Just contain the area and contact me if there's any changes. We'll keep going on our pace in case they have a separate target."_

"Wow! I have no idea who I'm going to shoot first!" Deadpool declared, his crisis of faith drawing nothing less than unadulterated hatred from The Dark Knight of Gotham City. "Maybe I'll see how many times I can blow up Clayface in a minute! Ooh! Or maybe I'll take a shot at Poison Ivy 'cause, y'know, who wouldn't mind planting a few seeds in that garden, huh?"

The former guinea pig of Weapon X at least had enough presence of mind to resist the urge to give Batman a comradely slug to the shoulder. Still, noticing that his distinguished host wasn't looking at him, his diseased mind suddenly deduced that the total lack of response was because he wasn't talking enough and resolved to solve that problem immediately.

"Say? Is Hush in Arkham or is he in Blackgate? Or is he even in custody right now? I can't even remember anymore. Damn, even I can't keep track of the number of people who want to kill you, Bats! You have _no _idea how cool that is! You are my idol, man!"

Batman's move to put The Batmobile on auto-pilot was quick, decisive and (thankfully) not the least bit noticed by the overly charged psychopath sitting next to him. The decision to allow Deadpool to ride in the car in the first place was merely an effort to put a stop to the fool's whining but now the detective was deeply regretting his hasty decision. His frustration continued to bubble and boil as he put a great deal of what was taught to him by Mahareshi Mahesh to practice, his strong mind quickly searching for a quiet and serene place while staying aware of any sign of definitive danger. The next ten seconds passed in blissful silence, the lone sounds stemming from the slow and steady breathing in the car and the silent roar of the powerful engine underneath the hood.

"Hey, Bats," Deadpool whispered. "Are we there yet?"

* * *

"Bugger," Lloyd said from his vantage point of several hundred feet above Gotham. "I know he always kept threatening to use the ejector seat but I never thought he would actually do it!"

Deadpool allowed himself a twisted, little smile as he allowed himself to be carried by the half-demon. "Well, it's a story I'll be able to tell the grandkids," he said happily before turning to look upon the man who had reluctantly kept him from becoming a smear on the highway. "You know, I think I'm really beginning to see what Kara sees in you. I feel so safe in your arms, Lloyd."

Lloyd took a moment to regard both the bizarre words and the far more bizarre source of them while continuing to surge his way to the northwestern corner of Gotham City. "Well, I know they're a little skinny but I like to think they can get the job done."

"Oh, definitely," Wade replied. "I never really liked it when somebody drew me with huge freakin' biceps and forearms. They always made it a pain to get through narrow doorways. But anyway, are you and that demon of yours picking up any of that strange hoojoo The Artist Formerly Known as Captain Marvel was talking about?"

"Bits and pieces," The Black Dog honestly replied. "Still, something tells me we're going to have to get a little closer before I can really sink into it."

The Black Dog found himself quite surprised that Deadpool decided to let the matter rest at that until everyone arrived at their joint destination. As The Flash had described, the dozens of former inmates at the decades-old sanitarium stood still and ready like the sternest of armies. It had been months since Lloyd had to give any of them a moment's notice, the last major sweep of Gotham's more star-studded rogues either capturing the last of the dregs or convincing those who had escaped to search for greener pastures. He recalled the relative ease that came with the task of bringing the colorful, dangerous, but all-too-human criminals to justice and soon grew strongly suspicious that things would not be as easy in this particular exchange.

"AH! SO ALL OF MY DISTINGUISHED GUESTS HAVE FINALLY ARRIVED!" said a voice that boomed across the open field between Arkham and the outskirts of Gotham, the source of it unseen even by Kara's eyes. "PLEASE FORGIVE ME FOR THE DELAY BUT MY EMPLOYER WAS QUITE SPECIFIC THAT EVERYTHING WOULD BE PREPARED PROPERLY!"

"Oh, great. Somebody else decided to go and be The Voice of God," Stephanie observed with a roll of her eyes.

"BOOOO!" Deadpool shouted while leaping free from Lloyd's arms. "We want Graham Chapman back!"

"FOR GOD'S SAKES, CAN'T YOU EVER BE QUIET?!" the booming voice fired back with a decidedly more irritated tone than before. "OH, YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW LONG I'VE BEEN WAITING TO KILL YOU, WILSON. I'LL JUST CONSIDER YOU TO BE THE CHERRY ON THIS DELICIOUS LITTLE SUNDAE!"

"I know that voice," Nightcrawler whispered, the hairs on the back of his neck already beginning to rise at the memories that came with his revelation.

"AS WELL YOU SHOULD, MISTER WAGNER. YOU'LL PARDON ME IF I DECIDED TO LEAVE YOU AND THE REST OF THE X-MEN WITHOUT SAYING GOODBYE BUT I FELT THE NEED TO SET UP SHOP ELSEWHERE. STILL, I THINK THAT THE CURRENT NAME OF MY NEW PLAYGROUND IS JUST A LITTLE TOO DRAB FOR MY TASTE."

The crafter of the chaos to come took a moment to peek into the all-seeing eyes provided to him by his employer, the scarecrow-framed man with the fiery, red hair taking a great deal in pleasure both in seeing the anger on Batman's face as well as the money he would receive after peeling the skin off that angry looking skull.

"FORGET ABOUT GOTHAM CITY, BOYS AND GIRLS!!" Arcade screamed while throwing his arms wide. "_WELCOME TO MURDERWORLD!"_

* * *

_Misfits Confidential_

Well, it's official. This story is simply asking too much of me to be written in just five parts so this has now we're only at the halfway point. Granted, this will carry the story past the month of August and no longer entirely be my Sizzlin' Splashin' Summer Spectacular but I'm willing to make that sacrifice in order to satiate my creative interests. There's also the added benefit of stalling my decision to figure out what I'm going to write next after I finish this story up? Do any of you lads and lasses have any ideas?

And while you ponder that, peruse this next chapter preview, will you?

* * *

Next Chapter Preview

Well, given that Deathstroke is on his way to Gotham, Kal-L is busy taking on his Earth-1 counterpart, and Deadpool, Nightcrawler, and The Misfits are making their way into the newly dubbed Murderworld, it certainly seems like business is picking up. But who is Arcade's enigmatic employer? What does the mysterious Sentry have to do with the chaos that continues to mount? And who would have ever guessed that The Batmobile actually had an ejector seat? Find out the answers to the majority of these questions in the next installment of _With Apologies to Bea Arthur_: Depression. . . with Senseless Violence. Until then, remember to say what you think and write what you feel!


	4. Depression with Senseless Violence

Chapter Four

Depression. . . with Senseless Violence!

_Arkham Asylum_

"Damn it, how come fight scenes like these don't have good soundtracks?"

Even Stephanie Brown, a young lady who was quite fluent in the art of inane battlefield commentary, could not help but be surprised by the odd question thrown her way. In fact, she soon found it a near blessing that the work of the decidedly anomalous source didn't disturb her stride as she continued going through her paces within the ensuing melee. The frighteningly effective team tactics of Tweedledum and Tweedledee had been quite the distracting nuisance, the latter planting several solid shots to her solar plexus before she finally managed to block the stumpy looking arm that had caused her blood to bubble up from her punished lungs. Fueling her agility with the eldritch energy stored in her Oan power ring, the young Green Lantern carried the portly pain along with her via a forward somersault, the ensuing impact from the full-bodied arm drag causing Deever Tweed to bounce thousands of feet into the air. Keeping her body tensed as her other foe rushed forward to avenge his airborne cousin, the former Spoiler had little problem with dodging the kick fired at her neck before countering with a stern punch to the gut that sent the elder of her two adversaries hurtling into the nearby forest, the man's round body soon bouncing off the tall cedars and pines like an out-of-control pinball.

"What in the Samuel Langhorne Clemenhell are you talking about?" she finally answered after taking her well-earned spot of breathing room. "What? You're mad that you forgot to bring along your Ipod or somethin'?"

"Nooooo," Deadpool replied, his voice harboring a great deal of patience (at least under his depreciated standards). "I mean, the animated series had some really great songs. Well, I guess the movies were pretty good too but I always thought the Prince stuff was a little too noisy," he pondered while leaping off of Amygdala's head, the sight of the mercenary's boot prints upon the nearly hairless skin of his former pedestal quickly fading as the muscular psychopath quickly recovered from his wounds. "But the fact remains that we could use some music to go with this."

The mercenary momentarily shut his highly active trap while employing his twin MP7s to spray his bulky pursuer with several dozen bullets, the small circular bits of metal either crashing against Aaron Helzinger's expansive torso or briefly digging into his abdomen and face before being forced back out again by the sturdiness of his flesh and bone. "Maybe that song where Bats is running away from that forced labor camp run by that Marlon Brando wannabe. Doo. . . doo doo doo. . . doo doo doo. . . doo doo doo. . . wah wah wah wah wah!" he added as Robin finally forced Amygdala away with an emerald-colored force bolt.

"This doesn't make any damn sense!" Stephanie insisted while constructing an energy barrier that prevented her fallen foe from hurtling too far away from the asylum grounds. "And I'm not talking about the whole soundtrack thing because that's too stupid for even me to consider." The Green Lantern continued to move while ignoring Deadpool's plaintive whining. "It's like whoever's doing this just decided to dose the asylum food supply with those candies in the Pokemon games! I mean, there's no way that these guys shouldn't be giving us so much troubAHHHHHH!"

As if the combination of the unknown circumstances of the situation at hand and the constant prattling of her erstwhile comrade wasn't enough to irritate her, the youngest of Earth's Green Lanterns suddenly found herself hard pressed to somersault over a 500-pound mass of clay suddenly thrown her way, the force of the flying lump of orange mass causing some of the blonde hair that hung below her neck to suddenly fly up in front of her face as gravity decided to make her look like a fool. She was following the trajectory of the wayward shot even before her feet once again found solid ground, the fourth person to don the mantle of Robin soon discovering the source of the unwilling projectile just moments before that person had been surrounded by a literal forest of thick, thorn-laden vines many times the height and width of their prey. She couldn't help but feel a note of alarm as dozens of tons of various greenery seemed to crash on top of and around her longtime friend, the impact letting out a massive tremor that forced her to stumble and nearly caused Deadpool to fall onto his ass. Of course, it only took a second for that panic to fade as a ray of red light burst through the organic trap, the blazing heat causing Pamela Isley to let out a scream of frustration at the sight of her trap quickly being smashed to pieces.

"I'm going to check on Arrowette and Arsenal!" Kara informed the young Green Lantern while rushing past her, the half-Kryptonian's kindly words stalled only slightly by the fraction of a second she needed to knock the villainous Pamela Isley unconscious with just a single flick of her finger.

"Why the hell does she always have to make me look stupid?" Stephanie couldn't help but ask once she was confident that The Last Daughter of Krypton couldn't hear her.

"Ah, don't worry about it," Deadpool said rather carelessly as he giddily took to the task of blowing up the fallen Clayface. "Nate used to do the same thing to me all the time. Just be happy she didn't break out the duct tape."

* * *

The smell of burning ozone ran thickly through Batman's nostrils as he narrowly avoided the bolt of lightning that had been meant to burn his skull to cinders. Reaching into his belt as he came out of his right sideroll, the longtime vigilante flung a pair of curved, razor-sharp darts at his opponent, his hopes that his carefully aimed Batarangs would dig into the man's quadriceps and distract him long enough to start a more significant counteroffensive. Unfortunately, it was only a small surprise when the electromagnetic energy circulating around his significantly dangerous foe caused one of his shots to slide off course and the other to burn to cinders before it could make its mark. The mad cackle fired back at him as he dodged another attempt on his life was enough to make Batman gnash his teeth in frustration, the thought of being in the situation at hand surprisingly hard to bear.

"Do you now understand the extent of my consecrated splendor? Do you finally appreciate the power bequeathed to me through my father Kronos and the divine right of Mount Olympus?" bellowed Maximillian Zeus, the profoundly delusional former history teacher obviously taking a great deal of joy in being able to control the electrical energy around him as he sent a small portion of it hurtling at the spot where Batman stood only a fraction of a second before. "Where are you mocking words or pleas for sanity, dark-shrouded mortal?"

Despite his vociferous claims of godhood, the longtime Arkham inmate known as Maxie Zeus couldn't help but be distracted by the sudden burst of indigo-colored smoke that seemed to burst in front of his eyes. The disgusted retch that rose from his lips as the brimstone sunk into his throat and nasal cavities was enough to distract his voice into letting out little more than a grunt as Kurt Wagner slapped a long, hard-leather scabbard first against his left shin and then into his adjacent Achilles tendon, the combination of the material covering Nightcrawler's blade and the quick series of teleportations allowing the mutant to avoid much of the damage that any lingering electrical energy could provide. The two quick blows were also enough to cause the self-appointed Greek god of the heavens to stumble forward, his ungainly lurching making him little more than a well-placed lump of flesh to be molded by Batman's skillful fingers. The detective's long fingers went to their work with quick stabs of the peroneal before a _Silat-_style strike aimed to stun Maximillian's carotid artery finally sent the strangely powered criminal down to the ground in a heap.

"I am guessing that this spirited fellow is usually not capable of such things," Nightcrawler guessed while giving the fallen lightning wielder a curious glance.

"Is this 'Arcade' normally able to pull off such feats of physical augmentation?" Batman fired back, the gloomy gumshoe not even bothering to provide the obvious answer to his colleague's inquiry.

"Nein, Arcade's primary field of expertise has always been engineering, particularly robotics," the elfin-eared mutant explained while making certain that no other strangely augmented nutcases just happened to be gunning for them. "Whatever this is must have been concocted by some other party, either Arcade's so-called employer or someone else entirely."

Batman gave his erstwhile partner a barely perceptible nod while preparing to make his next move. _"Black Dog, have you managed to further pinpoint the source of the spatial disruption?" _

"_Done nothin' more than confirming that it's somewhere in the asylum proper," _Lloyd Thomas fired back through The Misfits' telepathic network, his retort clear and focused despite the lingering distraction of keeping Killer Croc from using his mandibles to rip into either Roy or Cecilia's all-too-human hides. _"Whoever's behind all this bunk 'as definitely done their homework, boss. A good percentage o' the inmates have been dosed with some kind of dampening charms that's preventin' Steph and I from getting a closer look inside." _The British half-demon paused for a moment as he brought his mystically empowered silver saber to bear, his deft maneuvers allowing him to deflect the radioactive plasma blasts of Doctor Phosphrous until he could summon the telekinetic energy he would need to send thelustrous madman tumbling head over heels.

"_Very well_," Batman sternly surmised, his efforts barely blunted from his exertion as he broke into a run to avoid being trapped in an energy net sent his way by Lyle Bolton. _"Nightcrawler and I will infiltrate the facility in order to get a better look_," he continued while leaping over Lock-Up as the previously mentioned mutant sent him tumbling to the ground with a cleverly placed, double-footed dropkick. _"Be sure you secure the perimeter to your expectations before joining us and we'll keep ourselves hidden until you do."_

"_Understood_," The Black Dog replied, his hazel eyes already quick in looking for something else to help or hinder. _"How's the fencing going, Flash?" _He continued as his long, lithe body surged straight for Achilles Milo before the longtime alchemist could summon more elemental beasts from the sigils surrounding the ground around him.

"_So far, so good," _reported The Fastest Man Alive, the physical evidence of a surge of scarlet tumbling over a gaggle of inmates who had tried to choose retreat over valor providing solid proof that Wally was making his presence felt. _"This is my 62__nd__ tour of the grounds and nobody's been able to make it any further than a block from the building."_

"Man, you guys make all of this look _way _too easy," Deadpool couldn't help but admit while dropping down next to Lloyd, the mercenary's recent attempts to blast Basil Karlo's arms off with the aid of a high-powered shotgun momentarily satiating his bloodlust. "I mean, you guys keep this up and our cataclysmic crossover event is going to be over before all the snarks on the comic book forums can properly make fun of it."

The Black Dog did not even bother to spare the stranger so much as a glance.

"_I'm thinning them out as much as I can but I've gotta admit that you guys seem to be bottling them pretty well on your own," _The Flash offered in a complimentary tone while peppering The Calendar Man with dozens upon dozens of jabs and hooks that somehow prompted time to speed up, slow down, and warp around him. _"Of course, maybe I shouldn't have said that since it always seems that whenever one of us does say that is when the __**SHIIIIIIIT!"**_

Even Lloyd couldn't mask his confusion at the recent turn of events that had also drawn his friend's attention, his eyes narrowing as the center of the battlefield opened up before their very eyes. Grass, soil, and pavement were all easily swept aside as the trap door beneath was finally brought into view, an odd addition to the architecture that had certainly not been there the last time any of The Misfits had frequented the longtime lockup facility. The next bolt from the blue was quick to follow as an enormous machine began to rise from the growing aperture, the construction easily towering over everything around including the towering oak trees and even the asylum itself. Still, as bulky as the creation appeared to be, the construction still seemed phenomenally precise and patient, the solid angles and lack of superfluous features making the red-and-black colored automaton look less like something from a Japanese cartoon and more like someone who took a great deal of pride in getting their job done.

"You know, I can't help but notice that this reality has a great many more exciting things to play with than my own," Arcade confessed, his cocky demeanor punctuated by the massive speakers equipped upon his latest creation. "Of course, I suppose that I could be a mite perturbed about how easy it will now be to kill all of you but something tells me I'll be able to talk my way through it!"

"Huh," Lloyd responded while tilting his head to one side, his hands and mind busy creating a force barrier that kept Deadpool from being liquefied by the blast of superheated plasma firing from the cannon situated just above the massive robot's left arm. "Have to admit that I didn't see this one coming."

* * *

_The Rock of Eternity_

Kal-L could easily taste the trickles of blood dripping from the cuts on his gums and the broken bones around his throat muscles as he weathered the stiff punch to the gut thrown by his younger counterpart. It was the third hit he had chosen to take without complaint or counter, his intentions still more focused upon the hope of appealing to the better angels of his fellow Kryptonian's nature. However, as the impact from the blow forced him to collide with the unforgiving stone walls that surrounded the observation chamber, the old warhorse could almost feel his patience slipping away. His wrinkled hands momentarily stretched outward before contracting in once again, his knees and shoulders slowly bending into a familiar stance he had done his best to master ever since the day he and Pa Kent had watched Rocky Marciano take on Joe Louis on that tiny, black-and-white television cropped up in the corner of the cramped living room.

"Come on, son," he said cautiously while either blocking or swaying around the jabs or uppercuts that Kal-El threw his way, the sure and easy movements looking like something that couldn't have possibly been pulled off by a man in his mid-90's. "Don't let whoever's got a hold of you sink his claws in any deeper," he went on while also providing a physical retort in the form of a left cross to the jaw that left the Superman of Earth-1 wide open to receive a stiff body-blow combination that doubtlessly cracked a fair share of ribs.

To his credit, the enraptured Kryptonian barely let out a grunt as he began to backpedal, his brawny left fist briefly swiping across his lips in order to wipe away the blood that had leaked from that side of his mouth. "But I figured that this was what you'd want to see from me," the younger Clark Kent fired back with a sneer. "A Superman that doesn't take any prisoners. A Superman that doesn't let his heart get in the way of what should be going on his head. And, as far as my mind is concerned, getting you out of the picture will finally give me my shot at what I deserve!"

Kal-L couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt as he brought Kal-El's spirited offensive to a stop by wrapping up the younger man's outstretched left arm and locking it within a Jujitsu-style arm bar. A quick but sure pivot of his left foot allowed him to bring his other arm into play and turn the temporary hold into a much sturdier front face lock, the move allowing him to hold to keep the fists and feet of the younger Kryptonian at bay while he tried to try and reason with him.

"Clark, I'm sorry that I didn't try harder to convince you that your best could never be good enough," the gray-templed warrior whispered while continuing to pin down his younger counterpart. "But I will tell you right know that you can't do anyone else one lick of good unless you can't do the same thing for yourself. Don't let yourself be controlled like this!"

The old man knew he shouldn't have been surprised by the resentful roar that burst through the other Superman's lungs or that the added anger would be enough to allow the younger man to break free of his hold. The strength behind the hammering blows that followed was a bit more of a revelation, the shockwaves produced by the force of Kal-El's fists meeting his skull and torso causing tremors that shook everything around them. However, the years spent sparring with an occasional angered Superboy Prime provided the older Superman with more than enough insight upon the matter of just how angry any version of him could get when the right buttons were pushed. The wizened warrior's mind chastised itself for the arrogance he had brought to the forefront while the rest of his body worked to bring the battle back to a more even footing, the sting of cracked bones and the lurch of strained muscles providing even more motivation to get back into the game.

"Who says I'm being controlled? I am so _sick _of you thinking that you know everything there is to know about me!" Kal-El continued to rail, the force of his voice increasing right along with the velocity of his offensive. "I've spent more than half my life fighting for the same ideals that you're always trumpeting about and you never even bothered to pretend to view me as an equal! Always with the lessons and the holier-than-thou speeches! The dry, little monologues about how things were always better on _your _Earth!"

The vigor and righteousness that had flowed through each and every action cast by the Superman of Earth-1 was already being replaced by frustration, an overflow of emotion punctuated by whatever thrall that had been placed upon him. "And now you're the one being tested? You allowed your reality to be destroyed?! What makes you think you've earned anything that you've received?"

It didn't take much for the vigor to return to Kal-L's formerly tired body. A mere memory of Lois and the decades they spent together was more than he ever needed to do what had to be done. Time seemed to come to a stop as the old man blocked his opponent's left uppercut with little more than the palm of his right hand, the turbulent swirling of the stone shards that had gathered around their feet serving as the only motion for that ever-so-brief span of time.

"Watch your tongue, young man," Kal-L advised before forcing the younger Superman away with a right-handed haymaker that landed squarely on his opponent's chin. "And just what is all this about a test? Is that really what this opening of the dimensional bleed is all about?"

A great deal happened in the next handful of seconds, so much so that even Kal-L had a hard time trying to take it all in. The opening traces of confusion on Kal-El's countenance perhaps drew more attention than it should, or at least enough for the elder Superman to momentarily ignore the familiar _CRACK _of golden lightning that signaled Billy's return to his ordained home. He briefly noted the look of relief on the young immortal's face and how it quickly faded away at the scene around him.

The collection of all there was to take in made the old man a second too slow to respond to Kal-El's next move, the blur of red, blue, and gold smashing straight into Batson's childlike form before he could even begin to stop him. He bit back the curse of disappointment against his own inactions as the young god's ungainly, backwards crash into the jagged rocks surrounding the young man's observation chambers caused another scent of blood to fill his already busy nostril, the determined old hand focused on bringing his adversary down. Tackling the younger version of himself and pinning him down, he felt his body burn as Kal-El blasted him with every ounce of heat he could generate from his pupils, the sheer wave of crimson energy incinerating the roof of the structure after passing through or past Kal-L's battered body.

"ARRRRGH!"

And now Kal-L was once again surprised, this time by the realization that the scream of anguish was not coming from him. Instead, the outpouring of misery was pouring forth from his foe, the raging man clutching his throbbing temples with enough force to nearly tear the skin clean off the bones and veins. Given all that had occurred in the last handful of moments, it was only natural that the old man needed a bit of time to put the pieces of the puzzle together, or at least more time than he needed to knock Kal-El unconscious with a precise, underhand chop to the Kryptonian's occipital ridge. Breathing a sigh of relief as the Superman of Earth-2 slumped to the floor, he could still feel the skin on his chest bubbling and spitting as he shakily rose to his feet, his recovering eyes still managing to catch the blotchy haze of black and gold that had made its presence felt.

"Did. . . did I do the right thing?" Kal-L heard The Sentry mumble through his worn ears, the perpetrator of the telepathic attack seemingly hiding behind his shoulder-length curtain of blonde hair. "I think I did good," he assured himself, the tone quite similar to the candor that a child would employ when trying to secure themselves after doing something they didn't know was either right or wrong. "They look so much the same."

"You did just fine," the tired but still mindful Superman of Earth-2 said with assurance, his warbled but confident response slightly appeasing the timid champion. "Are you all right, William?"

Billy Batson let out a sigh as he also struggled back to his feet, the former Captain Marvel and current overseer of the Earth-1 momentarily tempted to feel for the cut that had opened up along the back of his head. "I suppose I'm fine," he finally proclaimed. "However, I can't help but think that Shazam would have had my head for that."

Kal-L couldn't help but let out a chuckle. "No need to beat yourself up, son. In fact, your time would be a lot better spent clearing up whatever's been put on Kal-El. After all, now that our enemy has finally tipped his hand, we're going to need all the big guns we can get if we want to put a stop to all this."

"So you know who's behind this?" Billy asked with a genuine display of surprise, the wisdom of Solomon apparently not enough to reach the same conclusion that his guardian had.

"Indeed I do," Kal-L replied, his slow, steady nod lacking a great deal of its usual dignity thanks to the severely singed eyebrows and the still regenerating facial structure. However, even those temporary tarnishes did little in breaking the attention placed upon him as he shifted his gaze. "And, so long as you're willing, you're coming with me to help put this monster back in his place."

"I am?" asked The Sentry, the wide-eyed man immediately looking as if he would rather do anything but.

"Absolutely," confirmed the champion so frequently regarded as the greatest hero of any reality, the warhorse's conviction curbed only slightly as he took in his current state of affairs. "Well, after a quick change in clothes, anyway," he added while examining what little remained of his familiar shirt and cape as he walked back to his own chambers with long, purposeful strides. "Great Caesar's Ghost, they don't make these things like they used to."

* * *

The combination of the stark, white-plaster walls and the large circuit of overhead lamps hardly made Arkham Asylum a paradise for those with a taste for espionage. It was a perfectly acceptable architectural decision, mind you, particularly given the importance of being able to see everything around you when dealing with the sickest and most depraved souls that Gotham City had to offer but the lack of shadows still left the two infiltrators far too visible for their current likings.

Even the illumination of the overhead lights seemed to disagree with the scenario, the unyielding illumination shining messily against Nightcrawler's dark fur while forcing The Batman within a milieu that made him look decidedly human and vulnerable. Nevertheless, they had quickly decided to succeed with speed where subtlety had failed, their legs churning in rapid motion as they scurried down the halls and dashed up the stairwells. Their swift travels wouldn't have seemed very natural to the human eye, the everyday observer who would find themselves hard-pressed to answer how a man sporting such a heavy cape and cowl could still move with all the grace and fluidity of an Olympic sprinter. And Nightcrawler, of course, was an entirely different matter, the lithe showman shifting easily between dashing on two legs, scurrying on all fours, and then scaling up and along the nearby walls in the instances where his slower, larger comrade needed the extra room to move freely.

"Just what is this place?" Nightcrawler asked quietly while sliding open the door that separated the second-floor care rooms from the western stairwell, the quick curtsy that accompanied his gesture catered more for self-amusement than as a sign of gentlemanly behavior. "What on Earth would spawn such bizarre creatures?"

"It's a former sanitarium that has been restructured to contain dangerous criminals who the courts have deemed to not be fully in control of their iniquitous actions," Batman quickly replied while moving up the black, metal steps two at a time. "It was recently retrofitted with a variety of security measures that had been highly successful in preventing escape but whoever is behind this obviously found a way to circumvent them."

"Truly?" Nightcrawler asked, the slimmer sprinter able to keep pace by crawling along the nearby railings. "All those criminals in a single place? _Mein Gott_, Herr Batman, just how frequently are you forced to deal with these wayward souls?"

Despite the lingering urgency, Nightcrawler truly tried his best to read the silent and inscrutable response the shrouded man had to give to him in return. The slamming of the metal door that separated the stairwell from the third floor hallway quickly broke his attention, the longtime X-Man noticing that the quasi-gentlemanly air that he had brought to the previous proceedings remained decidedly absent as Batman waited for him to move ahead.

"We all have our own obstacles," Batman finally replied, a scant of venom in his voice as his comrade finally followed his silent order.

"Ah, indeed we do," Nightcrawler agreed, his undercurrent of whimsy slightly irritating his more curmudgeonly comrade while his own shining eyes caught hold of a decidedly disturbing sight. "And speaking of such impediments. . ."

Batman was already preparing himself to avoid the sickly-green gas rising up from his feet by the time Nightcrawler had grabbed a hold of his right forearm, the gas mask within one of the far left pockets of his utility belt only inches from his lips before his aggressors briefly faded from his sight. A brief sense of vertigo overcame him as he suddenly finding himself above the attacking androids, the timely teleportation provided by the quick-thinking mutant allowing them to literally get the drop on their unwanted foes. Wagner was the first to act, of course, the combination of his metahuman reflexes and his many experiences with enduring the physiological backlash of his mutant gift allowing him to recover almost instantly while bringing his chosen weapons to bear. Two of the three automatons had already been dealt with by the time Bruce could place himself into the fray, the first going down via an efficient, left-handed lash that cleanly removed its head off its shoulders while the second was run through the gut with the other blade, the successful counter offering the blue-furred swordsman's more than enough time to launch a somersault kick that sent the malfunctioning robot tumbling to the ground. A trio of exploding Batarangs took care of the last one standing, the motion-sensor C-4 attached to the bladed projectiles quickly doing its work as the chest cavity of the brightly-colored robot was blown open by the combined forces of the powerful incendiaries.

"A bit overkill, _ja?_" Nightcrawler asked while raising an intrigued eyebrow.

"I've never been a big fan of clowns," Batman quickly replied, the detective taking a moment to fire a contemptuous glare at the remains of the three security droids, his cowl-covered eyes starting with the giant, purple shoes and baggy, green pants before taking in the big red nose festooned on the broken guard's face.

"Arcade calls them Obnoxios," Nightcrawler exclaimed as Batman once again broke into a run, the younger of the two investigators confident that his comrade knew of where to go. "They're a pretty common creation of his but I hardly imagine that they would be his primary defenses for something of such importance."

"Feel free to stop imagining," Batman quickly replied. "Something else is coming."

As surprised as he could have been by the fact that Batman had managed to spot the new arrivals before he could, he supposed he could reassure himself by at least being able to recognize the next thing that the showstopping mercenary had in store for them. Of course, the matching sky blue and mustard yellow uniforms may have looked more than a little ridiculous (or at least he had always thought so), the figures within them would doubtlessly pose a bigger threat than clowns armed with laughing gas and acid-shooting flowers.

"Do you know them?" Batman asked quickly, the martial arts expert stooping his body into a familiar defensive stance designed to face off against the unknown.

"Indeed I do," Nightcrawler replied before swiftly teleporting them out of the way of the blast of ruby-red energy the lead automaton had sent their way. "They are robotic duplicates of the original X-Men, another of Arcade's favorite tricks," he explained just before another _BAMF! _kept them from being either skewered by ice daggers or thrown into the wall by a telekinetic force bolt. "And though I am loathe to say it, this little trick tends to be a great deal more effective than the last one."

* * *

"Off the left shoulder, through the right arm, graze the twig and berries, nothing but clay."

Arrowette felt that she hardly needed yet another distraction to be thrown into the increasingly hectic mix before her. Setting another steel-tipped arrow to the string, the fair-haired archer could easily tell that more and more of the former inmates of Arkham Asylum were slowly starting to see the value of ceasing their attempts to escape and moving on to the task of trying to tear them all limb from limb. It was a mutual revelation that was quickly causing the quiver strapped to her back to lose even more and more of its once-bountiful supply while simultaneously leaving her with less room to work with, a dangerous combination for someone with her particular talents and defeciencies. It was more than enough to let out a muttered curse as her latest shot failed to do any real damage to her target, her picture-perfect shot to the hulking female's upper-thigh rendered useless by her foe's enhanced constitution.

It was a particularly crappy situation to be in, long story short. . .

"OH YEAAAAAH! WHO DA MAN! I DA MAN, BITCHES!"

. . .and one that was not made the least bit better by the ongoing game of Exploding Horse taking place before her busy eyes.

Heaven alone knows how Roy Harper found enough time to let out a whoop while punching his fist in celebration of his latest successful efforts, the bullets from his twin revolvers apparently hitting the marks he had previously selected to shoot for. The cocksure display was enough for his enthusiastic opponent to let out a swarthy display of defiance before making his own declaration.

"All right, all right, Lifetime Movie. Through the right eye, off the chin, left and right shoulders at the same time, nothing but clay."

It only took a handful of seconds for Deadpool to properly bring his Kechler and Hoch MP7's to his desired position, the skilled marksman apparently having enough restraint to fire off just four shots at his already phenomenally aggrieved foe. The former Special Forces officer remained surprisingly quiet even as the quartet of bullets soon sank into the previously called spots on the body of Basil Karlo, the frustration on the face of the original Clayface continuing to mount with every passing second he remained to be little more than a target.

"Aw, come on, man!" Arsenal fired back, a palpable hint of mockery in his exclamations while vaulting over the hardened stone axe created and then thrown by the shapeshifter's left hand. "I could have done better than that back when I was still a virgin."

"Now, see, I would have thought that you would have said back before you shot up your first dose of da horse," Deadpool countered while also making efforts to avoid a grisly decapitation. "'Cause, I mean, the comics barely ever showed you shooting guns until after you punched that jerkwad Green Arrow in the face. Man, I wish Denny O'Neil was still writing comics!"

"Yeah, whatever!" Arsenal offered while quickly moving to mimic Deadpool's previous feat of marksmanship, the red-haired sharpshooter apparently comfortable enough with what was going on around him to ignore most of the ramblings that his opponent had to throw his way. His reaction to Deadpool's next mistimed leap, an incident that led the former prisoner of Weapon X to being impaled through the gut by a foot-long spike of clay, only further proved proof of his good mood Roy's state of comfort as the uproarious laughter bubbling from the former Teen Titan nearly threatened to drown out the colorful profanity being spewed forth by his fellow compatriot in the standing realm of insanity.

"I wanna go home," Arrowette mumbled pitifully while hastily searching for any part of the battlefield where she could do a bit more good. Following the trembling of the ground beneath her, the markswoman kept an eye out for anybody trying to kill her while shifting much of her attention to the giant robot that had taken up the center of the war zone. The enormous war machine had already captured the attention of Kara and Lloyd, her much-stronger comrades apparently hard-pressed with the task of breaking through the metal beast's impressive force barrier.

"Oh dear, are we having problems, children?" Arcade asked as another blast of heat vision harmlessly scattered off his creation's defenses. "Well, I apologize for the inconvenience but I'm afraid that I'm the only one who's going to be controlling this soiree. After all, I have been promised this complicated little burg in exchange for offering your corpses up on a platter and I'm not one to avoid doing my best to finish something that I've started."

"Playground?!" Deadpool asked in disbelief. "Oh, sweet, merciful Bea, you're going to turn Gotham into a counseling center for gingers, aren't you? You sick, sick freak!"

"Oh, Mister Wilson. You have no idea how much I'm going to enjoy this," Arcade said coldly, his hatred somehow managing to pour through the robot's speakers while he raised the machination's right foot so that it would hover directly over Deadpool's head. "Almost as thrilling as putting a bullet between my old man's eyes, I dare say."

"Well, that whole killing your father thing raises up a whole other set of issues," Deadpool did his best to explain while Arcade moved to squash him into a decidedly quiet red-and-black smear. "Do you think the whole homicidal urge thing may have just been because you didn't get enough hugs from your mommy?"

_KEEEEERASH!_

"Awwwww," Deadpool whined upon realizing where he suddenly was. "And I was on the verge of making a brekathrough!"

"That's nice," Kara offered with a thimbleful of sympathy. "Wow, I'm really hoping this insanity isn't contagious," she then added, her eyes narrowing in a gesture of acerbic understanding as she quickly shifted her eyes away from the worshipful look in the eyes of the man she had just rescued from a grisly fate. _"Lloyd? Sweetie? Pleeeeeease tell me that one of us has an idea pertaining to how to get rid of this guy_," she pleaded through the telepathic network, the half-Kryptonian finding it wise to block out the ongoing psychoanalytical conversation provided by one Wade Winston Wilson.

"_Just a temporary one, luv," _Lloyd said with a hint of chagrin. _"All right, lad and lasses! Let's go with a Springboard!"_

Kara briefly drifted her eyes toward her lover, the young woman fighting back the urge to bite her lip as the half-demon dipped into the nearly primordial strength of the beast once known as The Condemner in order to gather as much telekinetic energy as he could. She knew that it was never an easy feat for Lloyd to focus so much power onto a tiny spot and she suddenly found herself angry that she couldn't be doing more. A brief flicker of blind hatred began to form for Arcade as she saw the sweat begin to pool around Lloyd's temples while a trickle of blood escaped his left nostril, the sight of the enormous machine being lifted from the ground by its own force shield only providing a modicum of relief. In fact, it wasn't until Stephanie's creation of a giant, emerald-colored spring that launched the askew automaton off its gargantuan feet that she began to focus on her duties once again, the half-Kryptonian confident that Cecilia would do her part.

"_GRAAAAAGH! Bloody, buggerin' hell!" _Stephanie yelled out as she suffered from the psychic stress brought along by her efforts, the young Green Lantern momentarily falling to her knees as Roy rushed to protect her from anyone that wanted to take a shot at her while she was down. _"Why the fuck did we ever think that was a good idea?_"

Lloyd couldn't help but snicker at his aggrieved little sister before moving on to his next duty. _"How is the containment going, Flash?"_

"_A lot less thinned out than before," _The Flash replied with blunt but somewhat cheerful honesty. _"Arcade's tinker toy threw me off for a bit and some of the nutburgers decided to take advantage."_

"Bloody, buggerin' hell indeed," Lloyd mumbled, the young field commander busying himself by keeping an eye on Arrowette while she kept looking out for him. _"Team, we're gonna have to split up. Kara and Steph, lock on The Flash's motion signatures and bottle up the stragglers as quick as ya can. The rest of us'll stay here an' hold off Arcade and the rest."_

"_Are you sure about that?" _Kara asked. _"You'll be putting a lot on yourself here."_

"_I'm more worried about him having to watch over that Deathpool guy myself_," Stephanie added while rising back to her feet, the power in her Oan ring once again making her hale, hearty, and as much of a smartass as ever.

"_Well, then hurry and up and catch the stragglers so you kin go on lookin' after me,_" Lloyd ordered, the slight bit of playful chiding allowing him to put his own mind at ease while convincing the two female vigilantes to move to their next assigned task. He was almost tempted to offer his other soldier a similar vote of confidence before a flash of red sped by his eyes, the wave of kinetic motion knocking over several dozen of former Asylum inmates like ten pins.

"_I'll be worried about you too, sweetie bumpkins."_

"_Yeah, yeah. Off with ya, West_," Lloyd grumbled back while moving to marshal his remaining forces, his eyes and mind thorough as he watched Arsenal move to reload his pistols while Cecilia gave another once over of the dwindling supply of arrows within her quiver. He'd be lying if he said that he gave a toss about the black-and-red garbed git hopping about from foot-to-foot but, of course, this would hardly be the first time he was compelled to look after someone he didn't care for.

"Ohboyohboyohboyohboy!" Deadpool enthused while continuing his bizarre jig. "This is gonna be great! We're gonna be like Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid! Or maybe like Captain Shaw's battalion in _Glory!" _The longtime mercenary and nutcase continued racking his brain as Arcade's robot finally rose back to its full height, theimmense killing machine flanked and forwarded by dozens upon dozens of Arkham inmates who still looked hungry for blood. "Ooh ooh! Or maybe like the good guys in the end of Phantasy Star II! Man, I loved that game!"

"Ummmm, didn't all those things end up with the good guys dying?" Arrowette couldn't help but ask.

"Oh yeah. And rather horribly, might I add," Deadpool answered before taking a last onceover of his own tools of war before the war was once again upon them. "But, hey, since when should dying ever get in the way of havin' a good time?"

* * *

_The Worldsoul_

This was hardly the first time that Robert Reynolds had been leery of his surroundings, when his own troubled thoughts involuntarily served as a safe haven from all the madness that surrounded him. The fog that had momentarily blunted his senses may have had more than enough time to part but the uncertainty was still very much there, the insecurity wrapping around him like a warm quilt would wind around a restless sleeper.

He at least knew enough to remember that it wasn't always this way. He had once been nothing more than a young man, an overly curious one, yes, but also one possessed with the courage to live with what came from taking what had been dubbed to be an advanced sample of the super-soldier serum that had molded Steve Rogers into Captain America. And the solution did prove to be a great deal stronger than what had been crafted during World War II, the unique concoction now lost to human history giving Robert, as the newspapers so frequently put it, the power of a million exploding suns. It was a power and responsibility that he shouldered as best he could, his exploits reaching out to everyone from Spider-Man to The Incredible Hulk to The Fantastic Four to The X-Men as he aided his comrades while receiving the same guidance and camaraderie in return.

It was only years after that fortunate accident when Robert discovered the other side of the coin he had so willingly placed in his anxious fingers. Perhaps it was something that he should have seen coming given his much ballyhooed intelligence and thirst for knowledge but it was not as if he would be the first or the last person to lose themselves simply by looking inward. He could still feel it there, the darkness gleefully clawing at his conscious and unconscious thoughts with every painful second while tempting him time and time again.

How easy would it be for him to lose control? What relief could it bring?

"Are you still with me, son?"

As gentle and placating as the question may have been, the honest inquiry only heightened Robert's already tumultuous train of thoughts. The Void had been relentless with hissing the virtues of the mysterious, old man, his dark half eagerly whispering about the alien's incredible accomplishments and selfless efforts to protect all that lived. Though there was little way of knowing how his lifelong nemesis had learned of this man removed from his reality, the certainty that he could never measure up to the man striding alongside him was constantly made as clear as day. He just too dirty. Too unfit. Too unclean.

"Why did you want me to come with you?" The Sentry finally asked, his large, right hand sweeping back the hair that had fallen in front of his eyes.

Kal-L first responded with a curious tilt of the head, the Superman of Earth-2 taking measured movements to evaluate everything the question could have meant. "Just call it an old man's instinct," he finally replied, the small smile he delivered in return specifically designed to calm his audience down. "There must have been some reason why the architect of all this sent you after me out of everyone in your reality and I want to know what that is."

The Sentry replied with a fairly certain nod, his occasionally buried heroic instincts slowly making their way to the forefront. "And. . . and you're saying you know who's responsible for this?"

"There's not a doubt in my mind," Kal-L quickly answered back, his eyes already focused on the sapphire haze that seemed to be collecting itself around the tip of the large, stone precipice that dwarfed them more than ten times over. "Whoever's behind this has the ability to shift spatial and temporal phenomenon, possesses the rare knowledge of how to connect multiple realities and, most importantly, is both intelligent and arrogant enough to try again where he once failed."

"As if you are one to talk, Kal-L of Krypton," a booming voice replied as the blue mist began to coagulate and form the physical representation of the creator of the dimensional bleed. The creature's sky-blue skin and prominent forehead both served as surefire signs of his Oan heritage but the cold detachment in his black eyes revealed intentions a great deal more sinister than ensuring the safety of all that existed. The muscular frame encased within royal-purple armor only served to exacerbate the confidence in his countenance and gestures and present a degree of self-certainty that could only be maintained by someone who had seen more creation and destruction than most would be able to fathom. "After all, did you not attempt to restore your own reality upon escaping from Alexander Luthor's haven?"

Kal-L lowered his eyes while The Sentry looked up almost curiously at the somewhat familiar presence. "I'll admit that my intentions were nothing but a foolish mistake," the old Kryptonian admitted. "And Alexander died thinking that he could reshape everything into his own image. What makes you think you'll be able to do any better?"

A deep chuckle preceded the craftsman's eager response, the former scientist and current god marveling at how much these two, poor souls beneath him were unable to see.

"The answer is quite simple really," Krona finally answered. "Because only one who witnesses all of creation can know how to shape it."

* * *

"So let's make the most of this beautiful day, since we're together we might as well say, would you be mine, could you be mine, won't you beeeeee. . . my target?"

_FRA-KOOM!_

Deadpool let out a wonderfully innocent laugh as his recently acquired rocket launcher was successful in turning three former inmates of Arkham Asylum into burning and bleeding piles of mystically augmented flesh and bone. "Hey! Did any of you ever see Mister Rogers' acceptance speech when he got the Lifetime Achievement Awards at the Daytime Emmys?" he asked while loading another HE round into the barrel with a childlike glee. "Man, I wish I was that willing to cause so much pain to those who deserved it!"

Arrowette once again shook her head in utter dismay while trying her best to bring a stop to another of Amygdala's mad charges with her last explosive arrow. "I repeat. _I want to go home_," she said again with as much petulance as before while witnessing her efforts have next to no effect. "My weirdness quota has successfully been met for the month and now I need some time to catch up on my sleep and reconsider my career options."

"Oh, is the little trollop of an archer wishing to make an ill-timed exit from the festivities?" Arcade asked his prey from the safety of his attack robot. "Well, give me a few moments more of your time and I can make all your troubles go away."

"And I'm not even going to begin to read into that one," Roy Harper declared while unloading half a magazine into the legs and shoulders of The Great White Shark, the pale-faced monstrosity flashing his blood-soaked teeth in defiance as he unwilling crumpled to the ground. "And look on the bright side, Cissers. There's no way that this situation could get any weirder!"

_ZAAAAARK!_

Arcade was only one of a handful of people on the battlefield who paid any attention as a ruby-red blast of energy crashed into his force field from the left-hand side, the vast majority of fighters still far too focused on either causing or avoiding harm. Turning a small array of cameras to the source of it, the well-dressed mercenary clenched his teeth and growled at the unwanted arrival. "Hang it all! I thought I already killed you!"

The first reaction of the current object of Arcade's ire was to continue his unusual offensive, the object in his right hand letting out shot after shot of concussive energy that tore into the rank and rabble around the robot's feet. Keeping the chaos up as he ran towards the small front that The Black Dog and the others had established, the familiar fellow quickly made his way to The Misfits' second-in-command with his usual prompt but critical manner.

"I'm guessing I have all of you to blame for this," Deathstroke hypothesized while continuing to employ the decapitated head of Arcade's android duplicate of Cyclops to great effect. "After all, for all your attempts at shadow ops and keeping matters under wraps, your team seems to have quite the penchant for making public spectacles that I inevitably get forced into."

"Awwwww, is that your way of saying you like us?" Roy Harper asked while adding his own artillery into the mix. "Well, we missed you too, Unca Slade."

Slade rolled his one remaining eye while working to get back into sync with his younger compatriots, the aged mercenary almost pleased that he could work with people that he had at least a modicum of respect for. Even Cecilia and Lloyd seemed a bit more relaxed, the two of them soon trading off some friendly jibes while doing their best to ward off their exceedingly larger number of opponents away.

Deadpool, on the other hand, looked truly worried for the first time all day.

"Hey, Matt? Thiiiiis, is so not going to end well for me, is it."

And somewhere, someplace above all the madness and destruction, a lone voice let out a long-withheld chuckle.

* * *

_Misfits Confidential_

Okay. I've got plenty of answers to why the update took so long to write. For one, I had a surprisingly difficult time trying to write some of this stuff out. Maybe it was the 55-hour work weeks but the fact remains that I've got so much I want to write about this that I can't figure out where to start. Kind of an odd dilemma given my penchant for rambling on and on and on but it is what it is, yo. On a more important note, thanks to everybody who's been reading and reviewing this little story of mine and I hope that you and the rest of my dozens and dozens of fans will enjoy this and what's to come. I'll admit I'm still on the fence about what I want to write about next but I'm sure I can think of something. On the other hand, some friendly feedback/advice might be just the thing to get my cerebral cortex up and firing, especially feedback/advice from people I haven't heard from.

And I know you're out there too. I can see you. (Insert maniacal laughter)

* * *

_Next Chapter Preview_

Well, I'm guessing that some of you thought the big fight scene was going to start up in this chapter, didn't ya? Well, it turns out we were still setting the table and now it's time for a real feast. We've got X-Men robots, Arcade and his giant robot, Gotham's craziest running around the city, and even the original mad scientist of Earth-1 all ready to torment our beloved array of heroes. Oh, and just who are those two shadows hiding inside Arkham Asylum just waiting to pounce? Strap yourself in and find out in two weeks time in the next installment of _With Apologies to Bea Arthur_: Acceptance. . . with Asskicking! Until then, remember to say what you think and write what you feel!


	5. Acceptance with Asskickings

Chapter Five

Acceptance. . . with Asskickings!

_The Worldsoul_

Some would argue that history, as Jean-Jacques Rousseau once claimed, was little more than a series of unanswered questions. These unknowns, born through the unending events and variables that drive us to this present point, is a part of who we all are that remains constant while we change and time continues to flow upon its orderly way, the growing number of these uncertainties brought about either through sights unseen or through the passing of those who could directly provide the answers. In fact, perhaps the most significant hallmark of any society was the desire to search for the answers to these infinite unknowns, to acquire a greater understanding of the matters and circumstances that we can only hope to guess and hypothesize about. It is an endeavor that countless souls from innumerable points within the cosmos have spent their lives within, struggling and straining to obtain just a small portion of all there is to find.

After all, it wasn't as if one could know everything there was to know about how we came to be. To think otherwise would be foolhardy at best and potentially dangerous at worst.

Krona had disagreed.

Then he proved everyone wrong. That unprecedented accomplishment now merely added just another sliver to the cold smirk he bestowed upon the supposed champion of Earth-2 as the aged Kryptonian warily looked up to behold him. The azure-skinned Oan could still hear the dissenting voices of his theoretical peers rooting around in his subconscious, the frightened fools who warned him of the great calamity that would arise should one successfully observe the origins of the universe itself. Of course, he only needed a morsel of his phenomenal intelligence to realize that it was they who did not fully understand, how his ridiculously inferior collaborators could have never understood the true glory of what he had done. They could not possibly have been able to hone their minds and abilities to a precise point that would allow them to pierce the temporal barrier surrounding all of reality and allow him to witness the beginning of time itself.

The ensuing creation of the so-called Multiverse was nothing but another happenstance brought about by his efforts, a twist in the path of history that he had chosen to weave and fashion to his desire. He gladly recognized this as he looked down upon a product of his own creation, the god-like being well aware of what Kal-L would say before the faded fossil had even begun to move his lips. Of course, given his desire to maintain decorum, he allowed the Superman of Earth-2 to speak his peace.

"I would have hoped that you would have learned your lesson the first time you attempted to change the course of reality," he began in what Krona found to be a profoundly ingratiating manner.

Krona first replied with a blatant scoff, the ancient Maltusian nobleman almost amused by the easy predictability. "Do not regard me as some form of unwitting Eve who blindly brought about Eden's fall," he replied coolly. "Those who claim I brought evil into being were little more than avaricious scholars angered by the realization of their own limitations. My past efforts bore fruit whose worth could not possibly be matched in the eons that have passed. This day shall merely serve as a continuation of my diligent efforts."

The mastermind who was indirectly responsible for molding The Guardians of The Universe themselves cast his firm gaze down upon The Sentry, the cold heat emanating from the alien's beetle-black orbs prompting the conflicted hero to momentarily shrink back with fear and uncertainty. He didn't require his telepathy to make out either the shadowy murmurs rising up and around the poor fool's subconscious or the recognition that the Earthling's sheer power that provided the fool with his continuous source of downfall.

"What you're doing will end countless lives!" Kal-L bellowed back, the sheer force and conviction behind the old man's words prompting Krona to roll his eyes. "You had your chance to pick how your life would go and you chose wrong and I won't allow you to hurt others simply because you want another shot."

"Tell me, Kal-L of Krypton," Krona replied in a bored manner befitting of a creature who had long grown weary of explaining themselves to someone who could simply not understand. "How would you have reacted if someone beneath you had been similarly affected if your idiotic attempt to restore your beloved proved to be a success? Could you even imagine how many lives you would have callously erased simply through your own misguided whims?" The creator of the dimensional bleed controlled his need to smile as he observed Kal-L's wide brow furrow with anger and concern. "Puppets like you would never know the true benefits and consequences of such remarkable endeavors. This is why you and your ilk shall be allowed to play your role and merely stand aside as I erase the slate and start anew."

The former manifestation of Entropy could barely hold back a sigh as Kal-L rushed at him, the expendable Kryptonian throwing a punch with enough force behind it to alter the rotational path of a brown dwarf star. Avoiding the blow or telepathically influencing the alien to swerve off path would have been child's play, of course, but Krona allowed the punch to make contact if only so he could admire the look on his opponent's face when his attack bounced off his psionic force barrier. He didn't allow his startled adversary a chance to recuperate as both the power within his blood and the energy gained through his pursuits into the unknown allowing him to easily choke the life from the weary Kryptonian merely by sheer force of his will. The force he put into hurling the poor fool against the face of his precipice felt quite satisfying as well, the flickers of disappointment and realization on Kal-L's face emboldening him to continue his silent and grisly deed.

_FWOOM!_

"Summoned our courage, have we?" Krona asked while stretching his right arm backwards in order to easily catch The Sentry's outstretched fist. A combination of telekinesis and sheer physical force allowed the Oan to quickly shift the blonde-haired hero so he stood inches in front of his face, the bouquet of confusion wrapped around the face of his latest attacker providing a wondrous aroma. "A child could sense your fear of what you are, Robert Reynolds," he ruthlessly informed his newly-captured prey. "So do not tempt your fortunes by attempting to sneak up on a god."

Krona's continued attempts to restrain and strangle the stronger of his two opponents left him with not as much as energy as he would have liked to donate to the task of sending the conflicted champion barreling into the rock wall of his longtime prison, the collision between flesh and stone setting off a noticeable tremor that managed to bring a slight smile to the genius's face. The supercilious smirk only inched further upward as The Sentry rushed at him again, the power of The Void filling him as both human and demon recognized the magnitude of what lay in front of them.

"Why do you continue to fight, boy?" Krona asked while fending off the blindingly fast series of jabs, hooks, and haymakers. "Could it be that you simply cannot see what you can gain from my efforts? You would no longer have to struggle with the darkness that eats at you with each passing day. There would be no more conflict over which of your pathetic halves remain in control of the monotonous whole. No more struggle to continue to hold everything in check."

The Sentry could sense time itself seemingly slow down around him, his expeditious efforts to put so much as a dent in the frame of his exponentially stronger foe suddenly slowing down until it seemed that all he could do was move at a crawl. His opponent did not appear to share the same quandary, however, the dangerous glint in the alien's eyes a clear sign that Krona was convinced that he had the situation well in hand. He felt Krona's right palm slam into his chest and suddenly felt his body spin out of control, his efforts to maintain his equilibrium quickly cut short by another harsh crash into the surrounding stone. His vision begin to spot and sputter, the combined traumas of his own physical pain and Krona's temporal manipulation continuing to wear on him as the impossibly clever madman dragged his tired body so it would float listlessly besides Kal-L's.

"I had expected this kind of utter ineptitude from you, Robert Reynolds," Krona confessed to one of the many pawns he had dragged onto his still-active chessboard. "However, I must confess that I find your incompetence to be mildly astonishing, Kal-L of Krypton. Perhaps the fault was mine to expect so much from the chosen champion of a weak-minded sentinel like Shazam's legatee."

The flash of another knowing smile lit up Krona's otherwise thickset countenance. "Would it have been wiser to create more of a commotion in my efforts? If only so that I would face greater resistance? After all, what good is an accomplishment if there is no worthy soul to witness it as it happens?"

"Well, gosh. I really hope you didn't forget about me."

The rush of red, blue and gold put was able to summon just enough strength to send Krona sailing off his feet, the intensely physical interruption coincidentally enough to break Kal-L and The Sentry free. The former fell to his knees, his wrinkled skin a mild shade of blue as he rushed to bring air back into his deprived lungs while the latter looked at the new arrival with a mixture of confusion and awe.

"Sorry I'm late," Kal-El began while helping his older counterpart back to his feet. "That being said, it's been a pretty rough day for me and I'm lookin' for somebody to take it out on."

Kal-L couldn't help but chuckle while keeping an unwavering eye on Krona as he rose back to his feet. "Something tells me you could have picked a better target," he offered with a wry reply.

* * *

_Arkham Asylum_

Logan had once told him that finding somebody to watch your back was like trying a new kind of beer: you're always going to be a little interested, a little worried, and you never knew whether or not it was going to bite you back on the ass until it was probably too late to do anything about it. It was one of the first lines that the roughly hewn Canadian had to offer him at the end of his disastrous first day at Xavier's lush Westchester mansion and it somehow stuck with Kurt Wagner as years of fighting and living life had transformed him from an optimistic pup to a realistic man. Of course, given the awareness that one usually found with the trials of adulthood, Nightcrawler also realized that Wolverine's arsenal of beer-related comparisons, which could arguably match up evenly with the number of days the hard-living mutant had survived, were mostly catered to fit the thoughts of a perpetual loner and rebel, two stigmas that the blue-furred mutant rarely ever chose to place upon himself.

That being said, it was quite apparent that his automated adversaries were not having any trouble at all with handling the difficult art of fighting as a team. The sight of the duplicates of some of his oldest colleagues brought him back to his first time in Xavier's so-called "Danger Room", a time when he was still a lanky and excited young man barely into his twenties whose lone experiences with violence were ducking and fleeing from angry mobs who wanted to erase his supposedly wicked influence. His memories of how the quintet was somehow constantly able to find him wherever he ran or crawled despite all the distractions offered by his similarly green colleagues provided a constant reminder of how much he could learn, that recollection of one attack flowing into another and then another and then another until even his impressive speed was not enough to allow him to keep pace.

To make a long story short, his very first skirmish as an X-Man ended with him nursing three cracked ribs, Piotr being frozen against the western wall, and Ororo being painfully brought down to the metal floor by a telepathic blast while Shiro Yashido was yelling and threatening to contact the Japanese embassy in order to report on unfair training practices and Banshee was merely standing in the corner shaking his head, the veteran Interpol agent doubtlessly wondering what he had done to earn him the punishment of being on this new team of misfits and oddities.

Conversely, ten years is a long time to expand upon one's bag of tactical tricks. Nightcrawler proved this as he employed his metahuman speed and awareness to easily dart between one opponent and the next, the lithe fighter providing just enough time for his persistent adversaries to get a good glimpse of him before scurrying off once again. All his acrobatic efforts all served as part of a singular distraction designed to assure the safety of his less mobile partner and Kurt found himself pleasantly surprised as Batman quickly picked up and accepted his silent request, the so-called Dark Knight of Gotham City quickly adopting his role of attacker. He almost let out a gasp of surprise as Batman brought down the robotic Angel with a disturbingly precise throw of one of his bladed boomerangs, the short, sharp edge slicing through the inch of metal that served as the link between the robot's back and the stump of its artificial wings. The damage was more than enough to send the mechanized copy of Warren Worthington III crashing hard onto the linoleum floor in a shower of sparks and sputters, the idea that a normal human could possibly make such an impossibly precise shot was hard for even someone as well-traveled as him to believe.

"We don't have time to fool around with this," Batman sternly proclaimed before twisting his body into a side somersault that kept Cyclops from incinerating the detective's skull with a powerful optic blast. "Stop dancing and start fighting!"

Kurt Wagner let out a customary chortle at the familiar display of indignation while briefly checking to see that the Angel robot was indeed down for the count. "How can you rob a performer of their chance to entertain like this, Herr Batman?" he asked while vaulting over the metal office table sent his way by Jean Grey's telekinesis. "Still, I suppose I must agree that time is of the essence."

A loud _BAMF! _sounded out through the somewhat cramped quarters of the third floor lobby as Nightcrawler finally made his move, the scent of brimstone filling the air as the mutant teleported to Batman's back. His unexpected move not only left him with just enough time to hand his spare rapier to his somewhat startled colleague but also allowed him to catch Iceman's interest before he chose to teleport for a second time, this time with Batman in tow so his efforts would leave Cyclops's next blistering attack to slam into Iceman's chest. The sound of the robotic facsimile of Bobby Drake slamming into and through the eastern wall rang through the sensitive cochleas of the elfin-eared mutant as he and Batman reemerged behind Cyclops, an unspoken signal prompting his erstwhile partner to rush forward and strike at the dangerous automaton with a fastidious stab to the back of the neck that sent the quasi-Scott Summers down in a useless heap. As effective as the opening move was, however, it also turned out to be a half-second too slow and the time it took for Batman to launch a healthy array of C-4 at the remains of Angel and Iceman proved to be just enough for The Beast to catch up to them.

"Never a dull moment. . ." Nightcrawler mused before gritting his teeth and slipping through time and space once again, this time so he would arrive straight in the path of the robotic Hank McCoy before it could try and rip Batman limb from limb. The relief he could have taken from the fact that the good Mister Wayne turned out to be fast enough to avoid the potential collision was easily swept aside as the weight of The Beast fell almost completely on his chest as they toppled to the ground, the tiles cold and cracked against his back as they rolled around and around on the floor. Of course, it didn't take long at all for the android to break free of the childish nonsense, the glint of metallic fangs shining off the overhead lights as it rushed forward to tear into the momentarily stunned mutant.

"GET DOWN!!" he heard Batman yell before a trio of explosive Batarangs sunk into Beast's back, the quick warning leaving Kurt just enough time to recover himself and roll away from the combined blast that quickly left the robot a decapitated pile of rubbish and circuitry. As successful as it may have been, Nightcrawler also knew enough to realize that he and his comrade had wasted far too much time, the manifestation of their error finally coming to life as they were thrown against the northern corner of the mostly destroyed room. The artificial rage on the one remaining android was obvious as it moved closer towards them with even, determined steps, the creation's green eyes seemingly burning with the concentration it devoted to its actions.

"Is. . . is this one always so much trouble?" Batman asked, his lips barely moving while the rest of his body fruitlessly struggled to break free of the telekinetic energy around him.

_You have no idea_, Nightcrawler couldn't help but think as the reproduction of Jean Grey continued her quest to crush their bodies into a fine pulp. After taking the slightest of moments to ponder over how much pain he would be in after going through with his profoundly foolish plan, the downy acrobat felt his head spin as he teleported away from the cluster of energy around him, his brain seemingly churning within its own protective fluids as he desperately concentrated on getting his body where it needed to be. The physical exertion caused the bile in his stomach to churn and his sore ribs to let out a lurch of defiance as he landed on top of Jean's shoulders, his long fingers quickly moving to wrap themselves around the robot's neck. Another _BAMF! _then sent him to the other side of the room, the head of the robot cradled within his hands assuring him that their lone remaining opponent was not likely to bother them anymore. He dimly heard the impact of metal against tile as he fell to his knees, his attention mostly wrapped around his own agony as both he and Batman struggled to recover from their exertions.

As momentarily weary as they were, however, it didn't stop either of them from hearing either the mocking laughter or the slow, measured clapping. It didn't take much motivation for Nightcrawler to give Batman the task of seeing what was in store for them next, the mutant barely in control of his body as his face momentarily slid against the cold, cracked tile in a state of near-exhaustion.

"I think you underestimated your little friend there," proclaimed a voice unknown to Kurt's ears. "Would have never thought that a preacher would have that kind of violence in him."

The source of the words may have been unfamiliar but the cold, deep laughter that followed in response was not. Indeed, the sound of it was more than enough for Nightcrawler to momentarily ignore the pain and jerk his body upward so his eyes could take in the sight of a walking nightmare. Though many would have been deeply intimidated by the animal's long, scraggly mane of blonde hair or the man's seven feet and 400 pounds of pure muscle and ferocity, Kurt was well aware that the true source of the man's terror lay in his eyes, the black pupils centered around a face marred by a sick combination of bloodlust and hatred. It was those eyes that told the man's unfortunate prey whether or not the monster would merely kill everyone in the room or torture them first and it only took a mere cursory examination to see that the murderer clearly had chosen the latter.

"Well, ya gotta remember that the elf's got a little animal in him too," Victor Creed finally replied, the feral assassin known as Sabretooth already focusing on who he had chosen to hunt. "An' here's hopin' this clown's got more bite than I'm seein' in him right now."

"Oh, there's no need to worry about that," the other hunter assured his more untamed comrade, the helmet that obscured the mercenary's face seemingly wreathed by the stolen neural energy that greatly enhanced his already impressive supply of battle skills and knowledge. "Just be sure to save me the good detective's heart after you rip it out of his chest."

"Prometheus," Batman greeted with a cold growl. "I would have thought you to be smart enough to avoid being dragged into a situation like this."

"Now, now, there ain't no need for a schoolyard sissy fight," Creed coolly intervened after seeing his unlikely comrade begin to bristle. "And besides, he ain't the one you gotta be worryin' about right now."

No more warning was provided as Victor Creed leapt at the still struggling detective, his vibrant motion followed only seconds later as Prometheus executed a flawless double somersault that brought him straight in front of Nightcrawler.

And, with no further warning, the fight began once again.

* * *

Wade Wilson couldn't even remember the last time he had been this nervous. Now, granted, a handful of decades of living with both a brain-eating cancer and a healing factor that continuously tried and failed to fully patch up the damage wasn't exactly great for keeping up much of a long-term memory but the fact remained that there were only a handful of things that he could remember being more anxious about. Maybe the first time Terry asked to see him without his mask. Oh, or when he asked Typhoid Mary out to dinner after she had eviscerated those kindly Japanese tourists.

Or maybe he had reversed those two. Nah, that was probably right.

Still, as confused as he momentarily was, the fact remained that Deadpool was metaphorically shaking in his blood-stained boots, so much so that he could barely notice the bullet piercing his skull at the point just above his right eye while he kept his other eye on his much more serious counterpart. The use of the Cyclops head to lay down some smack may have considered to be charmingly cute and clever in a sadistic kind of way, the decorum and out-and-out seriousness of Slade Wilson was clearly not something to be taken lightly.

_Oh, and the Ron Perlman voice too! Daaaaaaaamn scary and definitely not deserving of being linked up with Matt friggin' Murdock in the Amalgam universe. Dare the Terminator, my ass! Oh, shit! And he's coming this way! _

"Mister Thomas, exactly why is there an ignoramus among your ranks who is apparently copying my attire and is apparently too stupefied by my presence to do anything useful?"

Even someone as deaf to the world of social dynamics as Deadpool could realize that this historic first meeting had gotten off on a bad foot. To his credit though, he did his best to compensate by using his recently reloaded MP7's to shoot a variety of holes into a collection of Arkham Asylum inmates. He then turned back to Slade with a hopeful grin (through the mask, anyway) much as a puppy would when presenting its master with some chewed up animal or toy.

"Impulsive, anti-social, and prone to waste both time and ammunition," Deathstroke quickly assessed while using his short swords to easily remove the hypnosis-causing helmet off the head of Paul Dekker before the criminal known as Crazy Quilt could put it to any nefarious use. "I believe that Batman has finally found someone more worthless than you, Harper."

"'EY!" Arsenal barked back in an Eric Cartman-like display of defiance while warding both The Silken Spider and the still bloodthirsty Great White Shark with a precise pattern of gunfire. "Don't rope me in with that guy! I'm just trying to survive this whole titanic crossover event until life puts me back into doing something more useful!"

"Apparently he's from some alternate reality," Arrowette explained, the fair-haired archer quickly realizing that Lloyd still had his hands full with the killer robot. "Maybe he's just a really big fan of yours or some out-of-the-closet otaku?"

Deadpool took the potentially humiliating suggestion and did his best to run with it, the loud-mouthed hired gun briefly ceasing his efforts to kill people in order to appeal to his counterpart. "I'm you from another reality!" he explained excitedly, the exclamation at least giving him enough attention from Slade to allow the other masked mercenary an opportunity to roll his one remaining eye before turning away once again. "Oh, and let me just say that you were really cool when you took down The Justice League single-handed in _Identity Crisis_. I mean, I didn't like that you turned out-and-out villain again because of that Teen Titans cartoon and just because Geoff Johns needed a good villain for the new comic book but Matt's done his best to sort of paint you as an anti-hero and I've always thought that suits you a lot better and. . ."

"Black Dog," Slade interrupted with as much serenity as he could muster. "Kindly inform me of what is going on before I decapitate this cretin."

Lloyd did his best not to let out an impatient grunt as he continued to ward off Arcade's death machine with a blast of eldritch energy that could do little more than force the machination back before soon petering off of its impressive shielding. "_Someone's created some form of dimensional bleed that's linking our reality and his reality together_," he explained through a quickly established telepathic link while maintaining his warding efforts with his left hand and summoning a whirlwind of energy with his right hand that gave his weaker comrades a bit of breathing room. "_And whoever's behind it all has strengthened these guys in order to buy themselves some time but the bottom line is that if we don't shut it down then it could take out both dimensions and a whole lot more."_

Slade did not even so much as nod as he leapt back into the action, the mercenary casually tossing the head of the automated Scott Summers over to Arsenal in order to give the red-headed sharpshooter something more efficient to work with. "_And do we have any idea on how to stop this from happening?_" he asked while unleashing a flash grenade that blinded a handful of his surrounding foes.

"_Don't suppose you've heard of the Wiccan Rule of Three?"_ Lloyd asked back while Roy was busy cackling at the wonderfully destructive powers that stolen eyebeams could offer him.

"Hey, Slade!" Deadpool broke in. "Watch me blow up Clayface again!"

"_Do we know what or where the marks of undoing the spell are?"_ Slade soldiered on while decidedly ignoring any other efforts to draw his attention.

Lloyd let out an audible curse as a smatter of sweatdrops that had been gathering from the exertion of his efforts began to fall onto his upper lip. "_Batman and one of our other guests are making their way to the triangulation point inside the asylum and we're countin' on Billy Batson an' his ilk to take care o' the other two!"_

Slade allowed himself some time to digest the potentially confusing round of information, the occasionally wayward father of three taking a moment to ensure Arrowette's safety by launching a trio of shuriken that served to both harm and disarm Firefly before he could attempt to incinerate the young woman. "_And, given that the integrity of such spatial rifts tend to be greatly linked to the specific relationships between the connection points_," he began to hypothesize while employing a fairly healthy portion of the 90 percent of his brain he was always able to put into play. "_Would it not be unwise to believe that we would be better off bringing a potential source of the dimensional merge towards those points_?"

The Black Dog briefly tore himself away from his life-or-death struggle in order to shoot an intrigued look at his comrade, the former student of Mao Tenryu beginning to catch up with what Slade had already considered. On the other side of things, the brief moment of consideration allowed Slade to continue to work with Roy in order to keep the impressive array of adversaries from surrounding them with a combination of gunfire, sword-slashes, and optic blasts that soon forced more blood and disheveled dirt and grass to stain the impromptu battlefield.

"Did ya see me! Did ya see me!" Deadpool giddily yelled out over Lloyd's epiphany, his exhilaration brought about by blowing up another copy of Clayface apparently too much for him to keep in. "Awwwwww, you're not watchin'!"

"_Right, we don't have any more time to play this safe, lads and lass_," Lloyd finally declared while extending his telepathic declarations beyond Slade to reach both Cecilia and Roy. "Cissie, get ready for ya shot!"

"_Right, boss_!" Arrowette fired back, the markswoman already analyzing what she had been asked to do without even being told just what it was.

"Ooh, I always do love when I can make a good plan fall apart!" Arcade crowed from the safety of his robot's cockpit. "Even your best efforts have met with miserable failure at the hands of my brilliance and soon you shall be nothing more than grit under the boots of my incredible creation. Perhaps it will just take your arrival in front of the gates to hell before you can finally appreciate my genius. . ."

Lloyd Thomas needed little motivation to sweep the sound of Arcade's taunting aside, the half-demon quickly focusing on nothing but his own power. Molding that supernatural energy with all the ease and grace of Sadanobu with a lump of clay, he let loose a thin, bright beam of energy whose mere heat and magnitude forced his own skin to burn and bubble before launching up to meet its target. For all his boasts of superiority concerning his intelligence and the fortitude of his latest creation, the longtime thorn in the side of the X-Men couldn't help but yelp like a frightened pup as the blast came his way, the red-haired employee of Krona not even bothering to hide his fear as the attack collided with the robot's force barrier with an intense light that blinded Arcade with a well-practiced ease.

THUNK!

The scream of fear quickly turned to one of physical agony as Cecilia's steel-tipped arrow buried itself into Arcade's right shoulder blade, the temporary overload of the robot's protective measures apparently allowing Arrowette just enough time to line up the complicated shot. The cowardly killer continued to display his miseries as The Black Dog quickly dragged him out of his still functioning creation, a quick teleportation allowing both captive and captor to quickly return to the ground below. Several long seconds passed before Arcade realized just where he had been shuffled off to, a length of time far too short for him to see through his misery and notice the fist flying straight at his face.

"Well, how about that?" Arrowette noted after delivering a right hook that sent Arcade crumpling to the ground unconscious. "Been a long time since I've been able to strut my stuff like that."

"Excellent shot, Miss King-Jones," Deathstroke couldn't help but compliment, the veteran soldier willing to acknowledge battlefield brilliance when he saw it.

"Not really," Cecilia countered while shifting her attentions back toward Arcade's still enthralled ground troops. "I was actually aiming for his head."

"Looks like we're needed elsewhere, you lot," The Black Dog added while hastily employing his telepathy to grab the still fussy Deadpool. "I suppose we'll have ta leave the bitter dregs to the two of you."

"Oh, goody goody gumdrops," Roy loudly replied while Lloyd, Slade, and Wade quickly made their way towards the asylum. "Hey, Cissers! Am I the only one thinking we just got abandoned?"

Cecilia found herself a little too occupied to shrug her shoulders, her upper body straining to fire off another precise shot that forced Amygdala to almost eat a fire extinguisher arrow. "Hey, I took out one of the main bad guys so I don't care anymore," she replied rather gleefully as her overly muscular target went down while coughing up an enormous dosage of nitrogen foam. "Besides, what are the odds that we're going to die off screen, I ask you?"

* * *

_Gotham City – Chief Correctional Office – Fifth Floor_

The Flash didn't need his ability to sense motion and kinetic energy in order to realize that something was afoot and he didn't need the realization that his unknown quarry had somehow managed to elude him to recognize that he should remain on his guard. The dark and desolate state of the city government office only provided the cherry on the precarious sundae, the utter silence that surrounded him and swept through the normally bustling halls and cubicles making the scene a blatant sign that a good degree of mischief was currently at work. He used the kinetic energy that circled around his body to light the way, the golden sparks rising up from his specially prepared speed suit seemingly doing their best to pierce the standing gloom before falling silent as he entered another foreign area, his steps soon taking him into a long hall that started at one end of the building and most likely ended at the other. What truly interested him, however, were the holding cells that lined the space on both sides, each and every one of them empty and devoid of any physical sign that anyone had ever been there. However, as a flicker of his kinetic current struck one of the iron bars with a soft sizzle, the young father of two couldn't help but sense so much on the edge of his psychological periphery, hear the words of those who had resided there.

"This was where I begun my career," a somewhat familiar voice announced, the exact identity of the speaker momentarily escaping The Flash as he continued to cautiously make his way forward. "I worked with juvenile offenders, making sure that these kids had some place to go after they were let out. It was a time when I still thought that I could change the city by working at it from the inside." A murky chuckle sounded out from somewhere Wally couldn't place, the tone of the laughter one of someone who seemingly couldn't believe their own foolishness. "Catch the darkness while it was young and still growing and try and drag it into the light."

Wally's eyes narrowed as he finally found who he was looking for, his mind suddenly alive with some of the more damning stories that Richard had to say about him. He had always thought whole story behind the man seemed more than a little ridiculous and, truth be told, the face-to-face encounter left him to assume that he was nothing more but another of Gotham's misfit criminals.

"I'm guessing that you're dealing with that struggle now," the man continued while bringing a pair of twin revolvers to bear, the long barrels pointed directly at Wally's eyes. "There's no use trying to toe the line, son. You can't teach villains to be heroes and any attempt to do so will make you even darker than they are."

Wally could only dimly hear the dry _click_ of the safeties being taken off. Not because the sound was blunted off by the distance or that something was wrong with his ears, mind you, but because his attention had suddenly become far more focused on the sneaking sensation that began at his feet and ran up through the rest of his body, the shiver that ran through his spine quickly coinciding with the chill that ran through his gut.

His speed had been taken from him.

"Hero and criminal. . . man and superman. . . The big man says you can only be one or the other," Harvey Dent declared while moving to the decidedly weaker Misfit with even, measured steps. "And you've straddled the line for far too long to avoid judgment."

Needing no more words, Two-Face opened fire.

* * *

_Carroll Avenue – Gotham City Fashion District_

Kara Zor-el found that she rarely ever had any reason to visit this part of the city. Her cravings for wishing to observe or take part in searching for current fashions had always been either rare in coming or absolutely nonexistent.

She spent two years fighting crime in a belly shirt and a short skirt, for Rao's sake.

The fact that the area posted one of the city's lowest crime rates only added further motivation to stay away from here during her patrols, her confidence in the local police quite high when it came to the task of dealing with the usual dilemma of the occasional purse snatcher or uncreative mugger. As diligent as she wished to be when it came to fighting crime and generally doing what she thought to be her part, The Last Daughter of Krypton also found comfort in knowing that some of what she had been asked to watch over was already in good hands.

That being said, the young heroine of this scene could not help but find herself intrigued by the unequivocally bizarre seen taking place below her. After all, elaborate tea parties taking place in the middle of one of the city's most-crowded intersections were hardly the most common of occurrences. The opulent long table that held the food and refreshments for the impromptu soiree was large enough to block the road entirely in all directions but it didn't appear that anyone was ready to complain, at least judging from the cluster of empty cars and the sight of several hundred people that had apparently gathered to enjoy the festivities. The seating for the party was not merely limited to lavish highback seats but also lawn chairs, recliners, inflatable chairs sporting the Gotham Knights logo and dozens of other seating devices that lay in between on the cycle of style. The age range of the guests was just as diverse as everyone from infants to the elderly had all come to partake in the festivities. Some were attired in the finest of formal business wear and the latest in global fashion while others sported more informal apparel such as t-shirts, blue jeans, and wife beaters.

Still, despite the size and number of discrepancies that could be found within the crowd, the accompanying distractions did nothing from stopping each and every eye from turning towards Kara as she made her way to ground level. The half-Praxian couldn't help but be taken aback by all the attention suddenly focused upon her, the trepidation only ratcheting higher as each and every person around began to move towards her with slow, shuffling steps. The first person to come within grasp of her was a tiny five-year-old with black pigtails and impossibly large, brown eyes, a toddler that looked like something that had walked out of a Rockwell painting.

"We're so pleased that you can come," the girl said with agonizing sluggishness, her timbre all but lifeless as the slack expression on her slightly-tanned face. "We've been waiting for so long to see you."

Kara's quick eyes roved over all the slack countenances and roving eyes and couldn't help but feel her skin begin to crawl. Now eager to get to the bottom of the scene, she quickly weaved her way around the surrounding crowd in order to make her way to the head of the table while avoiding all the offers of tea and crumpets. Unlike all the others around her, the man waiting for her on the opposite end looked as calm as a clam in sand, the excited grin punctuated by his large front teeth and accentuated by his overlarge head and the green-and-brown top hat that was perched on top of it.

"Oh, how long have I waited to have you accompany me, my dear Alice," Jervis Tetch warbled in an almost worshipful manner, the rise to his feet so quick and sudden that the cup of tea he had just been drinking toppled over in all the jostling. "All these guests I've been honored to find and so many hats I want you to try." His focus suddenly snapped at the sight of noticing something that only he could see. However, the sudden burst of temptation faded away as quickly as it appeared and was replaced by a look of confusion and slight apology. "But, you haven't partaken in any of the treats I've prepared, my little lass. Please. . . eat!"

"Uh. . . I think I'll pass, thanks," Kara said with more than a hint of apology, the numerous food-laden platters suddenly being presented to her making the offering that much less appealing. "But I wouldn't mind if you wanted to go back to Arkham peacefully. I know that you're not responsible for this, Mad Hatter."

Tetch replied with an insulted tut while shaking his head to and fro. "How now, little Alice. Why would I return to such a dreadful scene while your succulent blood refuses to teem?"

"Yowch!" Kara yelped, her sudden surprise causing her to involuntarily bump into the table in front of her. Turning her eyes toward the source of her pain, she looked down to see that the black-haired girl had dug her teeth into her right forearm, a trickle of blood somehow bubbling along the girl's front teeth. "What in the world?" she couldn't help but ask as she quickly shook the child off.

"Your refusal to dine was vulgar and rude," the hypnosis expert known as The Mad Hatter said with a murderous smile, "now, to me and my friends, you're nothing but food!"

* * *

_Gotham City – Robinson Park_

Stephanie quickly toned down the emerald aura around her body as she drifted down to the lush foliage and greenery that now surrounded her, the stiff Gotham summer apparently doing little to harm the beauty of the city's largest publically owned landmark. There were no sign of the familiar carriage horses save for the desiccated remains that lay festooned along the bank of the south pond and the dozens of art exhibits and public projects that populated the 800-acre lot of land all looked as if a very focused hurricane had run through them in order to eliminate everything that had not been made by Mother Nature.

"Gee, I wonder who I'm about to fight?" Robin asked aloud with every bit of monotony she could muster. The lack of emotion served as a sound contrast for the explosion of earth and soil that began at the center of the eastern amphitheater before spreading around the young Green Lantern for nearly a half of a mile in all directions. Doing her best to stifle a yawn, she calmly turned her eyes toward the center of the stage where the forced star of the attraction chose to make her presence felt. As annoyed as she was by who she had been asked to take on, the former Spoiler had to confess that she would have gladly killed someone to have a body like that of her foe. The ivory-green skin may have been a bit too much for her taste but the hourglass figure and the fountain of red hair that cascaded down the woman's shoulders and neck were certainly worthy of the front cover of any lingerie catalog.

Of course, the murderous look in Pamela Isley's eyes could very well have served as quite a turn off. After all, it wasn't as if most men really had a fondness for being messily slaughtered by a self-styled defender of Mother Nature regardless of whether or not it would get them laid.

"Hey, Pammy!" Stephanie began while greeting her malicious foe with a cheery wave. "How have the therapy sessions been going?" She couldn't help but frown as an entanglement of tree branches the width of her body sprung up from the ground in an attempt to either bludgeon or restrain her, the precise intentions left unclear as Robin zigzagged around the eco-friendly assault.

"FOUL ENEMY OF THE GREEN!" Isley bellowed back at the disrespectful young woman, the murderous environmentalist now known around the world as Poison Ivy far too encompassed with the task of killing the object of her nightmares. "It was you who took me away from my destiny. You forced me to fear everything that had ever truly loved me!"

"Awwww, all I did was take a giant weed whacker to that wacky little man-eating nursery you set up in Graham Park! You went coo coo for Cocoa Puffs all on your own," Stephanie countered while firing a wave of green energy that incinerated the ivory throne that Isley had created in order to keep herself above the fray. Momentarily amused in the way that the scarlet-haired psychopath panicked as she fell to the ground, her laughter kept her distracted enough to momentarily ignore the heavy footsteps sounding off behind her. Finally turning herself around, the youngest of Earth's Green Lanterns opened her eyes wide with wonder as a massive elm tree came striding towards her, the control that Isley had apparently gained over the surrounding plants allowing the mighty creation of nature to lurch forward using its many branches to shuffle along the grass and loam.

"Hey! Cool! It's an Ent!" Stephanie observed with a toothy smile. "Hoom hum! Hum! Hum!"

_WHAM!!_

Stephanie had some time to think about what she just done before she crashed through the window of a store nearly a tenth of a mile across from the park's western gate. Quickly rising back onto her butt, she shook her head back and forth to rid her hair of glass and her vision of the bats and black dogs flying around her head. Taking another moment to take stock of where she was, her formerly goofy grin returned to her somewhat scratched up face as she realized where the batty bitch had decided to put her.

"YOU WILL NEVER ESCAPE ME!" Isley screamed as her self-created army moved towards their hated foe. "I shall force you to pay for the pain you brought upon me and all those that draw life from this glorious earth beneath us!"

Never one to turn down a challenge, Robin leapt from the shattered remains of the store window and prepared to take Isley on. Never one to be regarded as someone who leapt into something unprepared, she held the finest leaf blower that the neighborhood Home Depot could provide while both her wrists held an energy claw close in place.

"Allllll right," Stephanie resolved while using her ring to create a very familiar emerald-colored weed whacker that fell easily into her right hand. "You want a fight, psycho plant lady? WELL, BRING IT, BITCH!"

* * *

_Arkham Asylum_

"Slow, clumsy, and unfocused," Prometheus offered before countering the hook kick Nightcrawler fired at the left side of his head with a knee to the gut that almost forced the mutant to fall to his knees. "You rely far too much on your teleportation abilities and your freakish appearance to make up for your dearth of basic fighting skills," he continued to explain while firing a vicious right hook that slammed into Nightcrawler's skull and sent him spinning to the ground like an out-of-control top. "I hope that you at least recognize how ridiculously out of your league you happen to be at the moment. The greatest gift a warrior can ever receive before their death is to truly know the power of what killed you."

The data provided by his cybernetic helmet enabled the mercenary to easily avoid the leaping savate kick fired at his throat, his heavy gauntlets only providing a slight impediment as he caught his lighter adversary and briefly held him aloft before Nightcrawler teleported away. "You truly must accept the fact that you don't have a chance in hell," the dark counterpart of Batman tried his best to explicate his adversary's circumstances while blocking or swerving around every punch and kick Nightcrawler threw his way before sending his opponent down again, this time with a body blow-uppercut combination taken straight from the finest of boxers. "The combination of my decades of training and the technological enhancements offered by my battle suit allow me to adopt and employ the skills of the 30 greatest hand-to-hand fighters walking the planet, including that partner of yours getting ripped to shreds as we speak."

In contrast, Kurt felt that he hardly needed the depreciatory advice being offered by his quarry, the quick spit of phlegm and blood that flung from his lips a gesture born both of necessity and frustration. "Well," he finally countered with the lightest of growls. "Then perhaps it is wise that I employ another angle," he offered while reaching his arms back in order to once again take hold of the rapier and epee held within their leather scabbards.

Prometheus shook his head back and forth in a display of mild dismay. "You'll just run into the same problem once again," he said lightly before activating a switch on his right gauntlet that released his trademark shock baton that he quickly brought to bear, the short staff already brimming with thousands of volts of electrical current. "It doesn't matter what weapons you use or what style you try, freak. I can always find someone who can do it better than you."

Nightcrawler couldn't help but flash his fangs in a vicious smirk, the joy of knowledge too much to keep his enthusiasm in check. "Well, you appear to be quite the well-oiled fighting machine, _ja?" _

Considering himself a gentleman, he tried his best not to laugh at the expression on his opponent's face as he leapt into the fray, the third sword held easily by his pointed, prehensile tail at the forefront. "Then allow me to provide the monkey wrench."

Victor Creed laughed long and loud as Batman turned his fingers into knife points and jabbed them at the muscles surrounding his carotid arteries, the bloodthirsty beast taking in Batman's slight gasp of surprise as the countering swipe of his right claw missed the detective's jugular vein by mere inches. He took the half-second he had to savor the aroma of blood and sweat that surrounded his prey as Batman tried to smash his left kneecap with a kneeling right heel kick, the vigor provided by his accelerated healing factor allowing the bones and ligaments to knit themselves together in seconds while his right leg lashed out with a thrust kick to the head that sent Batman crashing hard to the floor.

"You wanna know what really pisses me off about guys like you?" Sabretooth asked while advancing towards Batman with long, loping strides, his presentation uninterrupted even by the Batarang the dolt with the silly mask through straight between his eyes. "All your tricks and bags of toys that ya bring to the table that make you think that you can match up with somebody like me," he continued on while ripping the razor embedded in his nose and the lower half of his forehead, his tongue quick to sweep away the blood that had spilled onto the sharp edge. "Still, I guess the fact that I end up rippin' ya little punks ta ribbons helps me sleep a little better at night."

Batman let out a grunt in response as he rose to his feet, the beginning of a Grade I concussion already clouding his perceptions. "Then who am I to stop you," he challenged while prepping his body into a classic Sambo stance, his right arm the lone body part out of place as it dipped down into one of the almost forgotten pockets of his utility belt. "Come and get me."

Creed was all too happy to oblige, his forward lunge far too fast for Batman to avoid. However, several decades of learning how to play the pain convinced the Dark Knight of Gotham City to merely swerve to the right, the partial dodge allowing Sabretooth's claws to rip through the armor covering the right side of his chest rather than his heart. He could dimly hear Alfred complaining about having to stitch him up because of his continued carelessness as he wrapped his enemy's now blood stained arm in a Jujitsu-style armbar. He ignored the sinister little chortle sneaking from the lips of his enemy as he wrapped his right arm around Creed's neck, the blood trickling from his tricep and shoulder blade causing his grip to momentarily slip before he could lock the hold in place.

Sabretooth continued to laugh, his efforts to escape his capture all but nonexistent. "Woulda thought a genius fighter like you're supposed ta be would know better," he said with more than a trace of venom. "'Cause we both good an' hell know you're gonna bleed out before I pass out."

"I know I can't beat you physically," Batman fired back with an impressively dark hiss, the conviction in the vigilante's voice giving Creed the slightest temptation to pause. "That's why I'm choosing to beat you in a different way."

Anyone familiar with Victor Creed's long history as an assassin, mercenary, and outright murderer would recognize that the monster's greatest weakness had always been his overconfidence. As good as a hunter as he was, his belief that he would catch his prey in the manner he saw fit frequently served as his greatest strength but occasionally played a decidedly different role. The latter of possibilities began to hold true just seconds after Batman's defiant words as Creed's diligence towards the hunt kept him blind to the bizarre vapor that his foe had dropped on the floor only seconds before. His enhanced senses only allowed the potent chemicals within the gaseous mixture to flow that much faster through his system, the effects of the most potent form of fear toxin that Bruce Wayne could ever produce quickly taking its toll on the monster known as Sabretooth.

The roar that poured from Creed's lips was a combination of shock and rage, the volume of his bellow coinciding with the manner in which he released himself from Batman's grip with a violent shudder. The massive but leonine hunter sank to his knees as his active mind produced images of his father, of Logan, of Nathaniel Essex, of any soul that had caused him the slightest amount of fear and each of them turned to face him with dangerous intentions. Though his body remained untouched, his mind was quick to convince him that his arms spurted blood from a hundred cuts and his legs were set ablaze while a constant chorus of words soaked in hate and shame seemed to threaten to burst his eardrums. A mere handful of seconds passed before the fair-haired madman stooped into the fetal position, his sharp claws raking gently against his knees as he tried whatever he could to stay away from the pain.

"_Gott im Heimel_," Nightcrawler said in wonder while helping Batman back to his feet. "Not that I am about to complain but. . . what have you done to him."

Batman tried and failed to hold in a wet, ragged cough as he straightened himself to his full height, his blood-stained abdomen complaining every centimeter of the way.

"I beat him at his own game," was all he chose to offer, the boldness of his words mildly hampered by the fact that he would have tumbled back to his knees if his comrade was not holding him steady. "Where is Prometheus?"

Nightcrawler allowed the detective to answer that question for himself, a subtle nod to the northwest corner of the room leading Batman to the sight of a man in no condition to continue fighting. Only a cursory glance was required to see that the tendons connecting Prometheus's ankle and foot had been cut and the gashes along the bounty hunter's upper legs provided further proof that his latest rival was decidedly in traction. Prometheus's weapons-loaded gauntlets were severed from their grippings while the cybernetic helmet had been removed from the mercenary's head with a series of precise lashes, revealing a shock of silver hair and a faraway look in the man's eyes that seemed to indicate an attempt to avoid going into shock. Despite all that though, what actually attracted Batman's interests was a series of scratches across Prometheus's chest.

"The Mark of Zorro?" he couldn't help but ask.

It seemed that Nightcrawler was momentarily content with shrugging his shoulders. "I could not help myself," he finally confessed, his pupiless eyes letting off a hint of a merry twinkle. "Perhaps I should continue on this journey myself. Given that you look to be on the verge of death and all."

Batman let out another grumble, this one a clear note of defiance as he broke free of Kurt's grip and began to hobble forward. "We've got work to do," he said simply.

"Actually, I believe the precise situation is that _I _have work to do, boss."

The two tired vigilantes swerved around to catch the arrival of The Black Dog, the half-demon followed closely behind by Deadpool and Deathstroke, the former taking just a second or two to kick the fallen Prometheus in the stomach before stooping down and ruffling Sabretooth's hair.

"Oh yeah," Wade Wilson crowed upon realizing that all eyes were on him once again. "Something tells me the good guys are on the winning track now!"

* * *

_The Worldview_

"My victory is assured," Krona said simply while clutching the two bloody and broken Supermen within his unforgiving grip. "The energy that I require to expand the dimensional bleed has been collected and now I shall have the ways and means to fulfill my grandest desire."

The last survivor of the Maltusian race took a break from his victory speech to hurl Kal-El's limp body at the oncoming Sentry, the strength and velocity presented by the Superman of Earth-1 enough to send the blonde-haired champion crashing into the precipice once again. Throwing the other Superman on top of the pile of broken limbs was merely his way of adding insult to injury, just another small triumph to add upon the fruits of his efforts.

"The players have assembled and the die is cast," Krona declared as his body became encased within an impossibly bright aura of white light. "Judgment will be done."

The hypersonic pulse formed from everything Krona was and could produce streamed from his body and spread towards every direction. It rushed through the neurological make-up of Kal-El, Kal-L, and Robert Reynolds and mercifully rendered them unconscious. It traveled through the nearby point of triangulation before making its way to Arkham, the neurological feedback so much that the four heroes inside the building could not even scream before falling to the floor unconscious. Only seconds were needed as it finally reached the dimensional bleed, the psionic energy pushing the maw wider by an infinite degree until the two realities could no longer handle the strain.

And then. . . there was no more.

* * *

_Misfits Confidential_

Well, I suppose I should apologize for the delay on the update here. All I can really offer is my discovery that getting a variety of students with very special needs can be quite time-consuming and laborious. This, along with the realization that a 60-hour work week does not leave much time for purely creative writing and I've come to realize that there are a few things out of whack. Still, I'm really thinking that I can get on a more even schedule now that everything's starting to settle down. Don't ever think that I forget about you guys.

Or forget about the next chapter preview either. . .

* * *

_Next Chapter Preview_

Then again, there really isn't much to write here, is there? Krona won, reality is destroyed, and everything we knew and loved about The Misfits is long gone. So I wonder what I'm going to put in the next two chapters. Well, maybe I can finally get in that Avengers story with a definite tilt toward Spider-Man/Shadowcat shipping! Ooh! Or maybe I can finally get around to finishing that Harry Potter story! Well, whatever I do, be sure to stop by and catch the next chapter of _With Apologies to Bea Arthur_: Kubler-Ross Needed More Stages. . . with Detail! Until then, remember to say what you think and write what you feel!


	6. KublerRoss needed more stages

Chapter Six

Kubler-Ross needed more stages. . . With Urgency!!

Wade was definitely starting to see the appeal of spending a day dozing upon the sun-kissed beaches of Porto Vajerto, the slow steady force of a neap tide keeping the waves calm and quiet as the tanned mercenary drunk a pina colada from the hollowed out half-shell of a coconut. Though he certainly could have been irritated by the gaggles of children occasionally running past his prone but taut body, the enthusiasm of the little brats seemingly unquenchable as they doubtlessly kept their parents on their physical and metaphorical heels, the underlying serenity of the scene didn't allow him to unearth even the tiniest urge to shoot bullets at their feet. Instead, he made sure his mask remained nice and tight over the upper-half of his face while making sure that his drink stayed in his left hand while continuing to keep his right arm wrapped around one certifiably hot tamale.

"You're rather quiet today," observed Theresa Rourke, the Irish-born beauty wrinkling her nose as the unrelenting sun continued to cause her skin to freckle. "Are ya sure yuir havin' a good time just sittin' 'ere like this?"

"Oh yeah," Deadpool replied lazily but without a hint of doubt or hesitation, the certainty in his response working with the added strength he put into his one-armed embrace to tempt Terry into letting out the slightest of relieved sighs. "I mean, what's not to like? I've got good booze, good weather, and very good company that's willing to let me work out most of my sick, deluded sexual fantasies." The longtime mercenary chuckled at his own good humor while not putting any effort into stopping his lover from prodding at his chest with mildly irritated jabs of her fingers. "Best summer vacation any Avenger could ask for, I say!"

"Well, I suppose that's something I kin live with," Theresa replied while taking a sip of her own bottle of bourbon. The Merc with A Mouth waited patiently as his lady love took allowed the bitter alcohol to slide down her throat, his memories of Terry's past threats to mercilessly beat down the next bartender who recommended that she try a cocktail still producing a happy buzz in his brain. "Still," the mutant known as Siryn wore on while fixing her green eyes on the early sunset, "I'm still findin' it hard to believe that all this is happenin'."

"Ahhhh, it's not too surprising," Wade easily replied as he momentarily drifted his eyes away from Terry's soft fountain of red hair and involuntarily bore witness to some shenanigans on the surf. "HEY! We're trying to keep a PG-13 rating here, Tobey Maguire!"

Peter Benjamin Parker's allowed his left hand (or, more appropriately, the middle finger of said hand) to respond to his fellow former vigilante while keeping the rest of his body on the more important task at hand, the Brooklyn-born photographer apparently confident enough with his own strength and flexibility to continue to swap spit with the girl still wrapped around his back. Of course, that wasn't to say that Katherine Pryde wasn't putting her own energy into the effort, the lissome, occasionally intangible mutant employing her own impressive flexibility to get as close to her lover and fellow child prodigy as she could. As jealous as he used to be about the guy's successful film trilogy and phenomenal merchandising deals, Wade had to admit that both the doe-eyed, wall-crawling geek and the Pollyanish computer nerd deserved a great deal of their present happiness. After all, anybody who was forced to endure the focused editorial mandates of Joe Quesada and Chris Claremont for the better part of a decade deserves a little bit of relief.

Shifting his eyes away from the disturbingly cute couple, The Merc With A Mouth quickly moved to check on the rest of his fellow Avengers as they too attempted to rest and relax in their own preferred manners. First up was Jessica Drew, who was calmly sneaking behind the previously mentioned duo with slow, sneaky steps, the dull, golden glow from her left hand a good sign that the lively former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent known to the world as Spider-Woman was about to pull a vicious prank on her fellow wall-crawler and surrogate younger brother. Next was Cain Marko, the towering muscleman seemingly rooted to the nearby tiki bar while not looking the least bit like Vinnie Smith and seemingly rewarding his slow but steady climb to the apparent side of the angels by downing one keg of beer after another. A mildly exasperated sigh from a beautiful, fair-haired figure reclining on a nearby beach towel indicated that Karla Sofen was also taking some time to monitor the other members of her team, the former licensed psychologist and card-carrying member of both The Thunderbolts and The Masters of Evil no doubt annoyed at the immature antics of the bizarre, quasi-family that she was at least an observer of, if not a proclaimed part.

And, of course, no examination of the team that had served as the planet's first line of defense for nearly half of a decade would be complete without mentioning the mustachioed billionaire calmly tending to his crowded barbeque grill. Indeed, although it was safe to say that the slightly rusted cooking device was hardly as fancy or expensive as the advanced suits of armor that had prompted news agencies across the globe to dub him The Golden Avenger, the light beads of sweat sliding down Tony Stark's temples was a sign that he was still hard at work. Giving Wade a brief nod before returning to his chosen duties, the former arms maker and current face of modern-day American industrialism managed to look quite content while hastily preparing food for not only his fellow Avengers but also for the smattering of youths and attractive young fillies that have gathered to watch him work. It was only a matter of time now before the thirty-something wunderkind would begin to spin tales of his many exploits while handling questions concerning some of his current comrades who wasn't as comfortable with the public, the team's senior member once again commanding the spotlight that he always seemed compelled to stay within.

"Oh, Wade," Theresa said with an almost dreamy softness before pressing her lips on a spot of muscle around Deadpool's collar bone. "Believe it or not, lover, I think I can find a way just to make this a little bit better."

"Oh, yeah?" Deadpool asked with a swarthy smile. "And what would that way involve, Red?"

Wade turned to see what appeared to be a child-like version of Ronald Reagan, complete with curious blue eyes and the classic, jet-black "Big Boy" haircut, lounging against the side of his torso while sporting a mildly impatient smile.

"Well, first you have to wake up since your world is about to be destroyed."

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

* * *

_The Worldsoul_

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" _WHAP!_

"Argh! Son of a. . ." Deathstroke squawked while stumbling back from the impact of the right hook that Deadpool had thrown his way. "What the hell is wrong with you, kid?" the silver-haired assassin asked while biting back the irritation that came with blood sliding against the stern contours of his mask.

Several long seconds past as Wade thought over that thoroughly appropriate question, the fact that he could remain silent for so long nothing short of an aberration of nature. Then, realizing that the contents of one of his most cherished dreams had just been played for dozens of people to see, he chose to combat his embarrassment the only way he knew how.

"You ruffled the ridges on my stylish leotard!"

The serum circulating through Slade Wilson's veins had transformed him into a creature whose maximum intellectual capacity could no longer be properly calculated by any ways or means of assessment. That being said, the man known as Deathstroke the Terminator didn't have the slightest whit of a chance in understanding whatever his far more psychotic counterpart had to tell him. The MP5 bullet he managed to swerve around by a matter of a half of an inch provided a much clearer message, however, and prompted him to yank an already blood-stained straight sword from one of the scabbards strapped to his back. "I'm finding it difficult to believe that someone who is supposed to be a duplicate of me could do something that stupid," he confessed while fending off the next spray of shots with some timely well-practiced parries.

"Awwwww, that wasn't stupid," Wade countered while holstering his now smoking semi-automatic machine gun before pulling free a sword of his own. "And quit ripping off the Cyborg Ninja! That's Lloyd's job! And besides, this is just the opening for the absolutely necessary hero vs. hero fight that's always happening in crossovers like this!"

"Please tell me that this is just the beginning of one of your infantile attempts at humor," Slade replied rather crossly, his orange-and-black mask failing to hide the irritation etched all over his wizened face. "Because, otherwise, you're making absolutely no sense at all."

Deadpool simply shrugged his shoulders. "Well, welcome to the world of comics, binky boy," he countered while giving the sword in his right hand a playful twirl. "ALL HAIL ULRIC THE CONSTIPATOR!"

"Shouldn't we be stopping them?" Nightcrawler asked with a surprising degree of serenity despite the noise of the ensuing swordplay and occasional gunfire, the X-Man not that surprised that the two masked assassins were apparently quite comfortable with abandoning any sense of sanity. He almost thought of joining them on that trail as his shimmering yellow eyes swept upward to gander at the strange milieu around them. It appeared to be little more than an ethereal void that had washed over them with a seemingly impenetrable escapade of blues, greens, and reds and an innumerable number of pastels in between, the seemingly empty space somehow keeping him and his comrades aloft despite the lack of existing matter that would normally be required for such a feat. His yearning for the fantastical made the sight seem somewhat interesting but the fact remained that the elfin-eared mutant suddenly couldn't help but feel as if he were some kind of caged animal being looked upon by others he couldn't begin to see.

"I'm afraid that the matter is hardly the most pressing point thing on our agenda," Billy Batson reminded Nightcrawler, the young man's blue eyes flashing as he employed his phenomenal sensory abilities to more efficiently examine the supernatural landscape around him. "After all, it's not as if they will have a place to battle if what's to come doesn't go according to plan."

"Perhaps we can spend less time with gallows humor and more time with explaining just what has to be done," Batman said with as much patience as he could muster, the detective's senses and thoughts torn between the mystic being standing to his left and the unknown infinity around them.

Batson provided a curt nod before following the request. "The mystical vantage point provided by The Rock of Eternity allowed me to access enough of the temporal energy brought into being by Krona's dimensional bleed to keep the portal from enveloping our reality completely," he began while stretching his long fingers forward and downward so they would stand parallel to his abdomen, the bones and muscles bent in a manner that would allowed for easier sifting from one form of spatial manipulation to another. "It is a stopgap measure to be sure but at least it offers us more time to bring an end to the bleed without having to search for the source of it."

"So this Krona remains the focal point of our ambitions?" Nightcrawler asked while creeping around to Batman's right.

"Indeed." Golden flickers began to fade in and out of the wizard's eyes as the eldritch energy stored within him continued to intensify. "Stopping Krona's casting eliminates the chief triangulation point of the spell and eliminates the bleed before it can spread past the barriers I have established."

"Very well," Batman noted, the slight hint of a growl in the shrouded man's tone indicating that a question was to come. "But that doesn't explain why you chose to drag us into the middle of this war zone."

Nightcrawler joined Batman in casting a cautious look at Shazam's heir, the concern spiking even higher as Batson countered the unasked question with a quick raise of his eyebrows. However, the time between realization and action might has well have been an eternity to the former Captain Marvel as he struck the two champions with a wave of purple energy, the powerful sleeping spell taking hold of his targets with its usually impressive speed. He cut off the spell the moment Wagner's lithe frame had slid forward, the indigo-furred mutant still struggling to ask why or what was going on until his consciousness was finally stolen from him, the mystic defender of Earth-1 saying or doing nothing to prevent Batman and Nightcrawler from being swept up into the crackling void of energy circulating around him.

"Perhaps I owe a thanks to Victor Creed," Batson couldn't help but say as he watched his two comrades drift into the nothingness. "That fear toxin may be just what the doctor ordered."

* * *

The two Supermen continued their unrelenting mission with unabashed bravery, the thought of potential quarrels or tactical miscommunications now almost nonexistent as the two alien champions attacked Krona with precision and timing that could only be learned through decades of experience in battle. Their thrown punches, whether they were short jabs designed to distract their foe away from the presence of a more looming threat or hooks, haymakers, or uppercuts specifically designed to cut skin, draw blood, and break bones, were each placed with as much time and precision that could be allowed by their formidable adversary. They also shifted quickly from high to low, wisely gunning for limbs and vital organs just as frequently as the head or chest while always staying on the move, the burns and scars all over their tired bodies still providing them with the wisdom of remaining still for too long.

Then Krona decided to quit toying with his prey.

Nearly two years of training to better endure the harmful effects of dark magic allowed Kal-L to avoid being completely disintegrated by the explosion of white light that washed over his body as he attempted to shield his younger counterpart from the forced of the impact. Instead, it merely felt as if his entire body was on fire and his throat let loose a horrific yell until it no longer had the available skin and muscle to broadcast his agony.

"Limitless potential, pointless results," Krona concluded before brushing Kal-El aside with a less powerful force blast before swerving to his right in order to address the next threat. He wasn't surprised in the least to find that the normally bright-blue eyes of Robert Reynolds had been twisted into deep pools of midnight black, the sight providing the strongest bit of evidence that The Void had taken over. Ebony tinted lightning spun and crackled around The Sentry's body as the golden-haired champion attempted to lay Krona low with furious punches and kicks. Of course, the unfettered rage that powered both man and demon also made the unwilling pair imprecise, sloppy, and quite vulnerable for a backhand that caused the fool to twist in the wind at breakneck speeds.

"Chaos shall always win out over force," the master of the dimensional bleed informed The Sentry in spite of the fact that his delirious couldn't have possibly heard him. "The violence within your dichotomy renders you into less than nothing."

The audible _hum _of an impressive share of eldritch energy being centered upon a single point convinced Krona to focus upon the next item on his agenda. "Well, this should at least be moderately interesting," the mad scientist mused with a heaving helping of mockery. The mere idea that the half-blood could think of doing any harm to him, in a blatant head-to-head assault no less, was nothing short of. . .

"_AAGH!"_

The Maltusian knew it was nothing but simple luck that the Earthling had thought to teleport to his back before letting loose his gathered energy, the golden beam of energy striking him squarely and forcing him to lurch forward. Likewise, the success of the vicious haymaker Kal-El that crashed harshly into his jaw was little more than outrageous fortune for his underpowered adversaries.

"_Stall him for as long as you can," _The Black Dog asked Kal-El through the aid of his telepathy while searching to reign in his real target. Giving himself just enough time to amusedly consider what The Last Son of Krypton would have thought if he knew he was being ordered around by the lover of his long-lost cousin, he then searched out for the most chaotic thoughts he could find and teleported his way towards it. "Whoa, hold on there, cowboy! Billy Boy said I should speak with ya!" Lloyd hurriedly exclaimed, the British half-demon finding himself hard-pressed to keep the larger man in front of him. A few seconds spent zigging and zagging back and forth was what finally broke his patience and prompted him to place his left hand on the fellow's left forearm.

Lloyd felt his eyes widen as his mind caught on to the presence of something quite familiar: a creature that was only slightly what it appeared to be. The expression was nearly completely duplicated as The Sentry experienced a similar epiphany, though his recognition was tinged more with confusion and hope rather than clarity and concern.

"You're not always fighting?" The Sentry asked with a state of near-wonder and awe while staring through the shell and straight at The Condemner itself. "How do you do it? How can you. . . how can I. . ."

"With a lot of patience and more than a little room for error," Lloyd slowly replied, the kindly smile on his face meant to assure his unexpected colleague. "Oh, and having a patient lady friend does its fair share as well, I've found."

The Sentry let out an almost unwilling chuckle. "Yeah. Yeah, it does," he agreed before coming back to his full senses. "What do we have to do to bring this guy down?"

"Well, we've got nothin' at the moment, truth be told," Lloyd acknowledged, his confession causing his larger comrade to gnash his teeth. "Still, I'm thinkin' the pieces are startin' to come together 'ere. We're just gonna to have to stay alive until we've got the whole picture."

Robert Reynolds took the calm optimism in the younger man's tone and wished that he could share the same confidence (and the fact that Krona had gained the upper hand over the younger of the strangely costumed men didn't help him in the least). "No offense here," he finally professed, "but I'm hoping that whoever you've got helping you works quickly."

"Oh, no worries," The Black Dog replied while beginning to focus his own energy. "We're just waiting for the dramatic effect and all."

* * *

_Gotham City – Chief Correctional Office – Fifth Floor_

Wally could barely fathom how quickly the bullets moved past him, the small bits of lead and copper zinging over his head as he dove into the relative safety of another holding cell. Of course, it wasn't the velocity of the hot bits of metal that had changed but his perception of them, his body's sudden inability to process and motion with a near perfect clarity leaving his nerves shot and his lungs deprived of breath as he stood up back on his shaky feet once again. He wished he could have taken some satisfaction from the grunt of discontent rumbling from Two-Face's lips but also knew enough to know that it was only a matter of time before the former Gotham district attorney would have his sights set for another shot.

"What's wrong, kid?" the twisted monstrosity taunted the red-haired former Justice Leaguer while extending his right arm in order to get a better shot. "I would have thought that you'd be a fan of this little situation I've put you in." The horrific scars on the left side of Dent's face seemed to ripple and twist as his parched lips twisted upwards in a smile. "You finally have what you always wanted. You don't have to choose anymore."

Whatever other threats or taunts prepared for Wally's ears were drowned out by both the oncoming gunshots and the intensity of his heart pounding against his chest, the mild panic giving him just enough energy to leap back to his feet and once again get out of the way of Two-Face's sight lines. His mind did its best to race and find a better solution as the long-standing rival of both his boss and his best friend began to move ever closer, the realization that he had to think of something, _anything_ looming ever closer as Dent continued to make his way forward. The empty cells left him with no projectiles to throw and with little room to hide as the seconds passed on without mercy or forgiveness, the former speedster's luck finally running out as his attempt to dive into an adjacent chamber left him with a bullet passing into and through his left thigh. The pain of the wound left him to impact face-first with the cement floor and the feeling of the blood pouring from the hastily made aperture only tempted him to complete the futile task of hiding in the cell's nearest corner, the merged scents of copper and lead blurring his senses and forcing his eyes to dim.

But Dent had already smelled the blood and the experienced boxer, detective and gunman chose not to draw his deed out any further. He rushed forward quickly to stop Wally's efforts to get back on his feet by ramming the butt of the gun in his right hand against the back of the younger man's skull. "Can't decide what you want to do with yourself, do ya?" the murderer growled while punctuating his hypothesis with a series of punches and pistol whips to his opponent's face. "Can't see what you want to do. Can't see what you need to do." The man's hyperextended left eye continued to widen as he became more focused on punishing the man he had been sent after, the same determination he had cultivated in dozens of courtrooms further motivated by the dark, rich red blood gleaned by his gloved fists.

Wally no longer had the capacity to count the number of times Dent had broken his defenses with a punch or a lash of metal, his thoughts solely focused on the battle to keep himself from blacking out from the pain. He had originally tried to do so by counting some of his more prominent faces of his past, more specifically the lives he could have helped change for the better if he had never endeavored to wrap himself in The Speed Force and be considered a hero. His uncle Barry came and gone as the bridge of his nose was shattered, Raven's ghostly presence wafted past as he struggled for breath and drifted away as Dent rammed his foot into his gut. Even Linda managed to stop by and give an interview as a cut above his right eye began to leak blood that dripped onto his eyelid but a lash of metal to the side of the head quickly convinced her that there were safer places to be.

Two-Face couldn't help but smile as he watched his adversary suffer, the deposed crime boss letting out a thick globule of spit that landed squarely on the center of Wally's forehead before leveling his guns so they would be pointing directly at the man's bloodstained skull. "You should have picked a whole hell of a lot sooner," he advised, the temptation to flip a coin conveniently forgotten. "'Cause somebody like me will be more than happy to do it for ya."

The sound of his children crying and screaming for him was enough to motivate Wally to desperately throw his right foot forward, the clumsy kick managing to catch enough of Two-Face's gut to throw off the bullets that would have brought his life to a quick and mess end. The mule kick that followed caught Dent's groin by a complete but fortunate accident but it did buy him enough time to garner the strength he needed to twist his body so that his next kick would strike Dent's hands and rid him of his guns. The sound of the dual revolvers clattering against the blood-stained floor was soon drowned out by a ferocious snarl as Dent countered with a stiff left hook that swooped down and struck Wally in the side of the head with such force that it was a small wonder that the younger man's skull didn't bounce off the cement.

"LITTLE BASTARD! YOU SON OF A FILTHY WHORE!" the villain roared as he sank to his knees, the formerly kindly soul wrapping his hands around The Flash's neck, his fingers giddily squeezing the life out of his wounded adversary. "WHO SAID YOU COULD CHOOSE NOW? AFTER ALL THIS TIME!" Fetid breath slipped through his gritted, yellow teeth as he felt the life begin to drain from his prey. "I'M THE ONE RUNNING THIS SHOW NOW, PUNK! _ME_!"

Wally couldn't help but disagree and showed his disapproval by summoning up what little, desperate strength he had left. The wounded, blood-deprived muscles in his left leg were more than happy to shrill their discontent as he bent his knees before pushing Two-Face away with as much strength as his lower limbs could muster. The merry prankster in him couldn't help but find a little humor in the fact that his own spilled blood had forced Dent to slip and fall on his ass but the urgency he put into stretching his right arm behind his head was summoned by the adult who had kept that inner child alive for nearly 15 years. He snatched up one of the abandoned revolvers with trembling figures, his eyes wide as he pointed the barrel straight at the spot on his foe's forehead that served as the border between Dent's handsome countenance and Two-Face's disfigured visage.

Two-Face fired back with a mirthless chuckle, the realization that the tables had been turned apparently providing him with some perverse amusement. "Suppose I should be a little bit pleased about all this," he noted with a grumble while reading the dangerous intent in the eyes of his adversary. "At least I finally got one of the kid's friends to finally see their place."

Now it was Wally's turn to let out a tired gurgle before sporting a confident, almost smarmy smile.

"Damn right ya did."

_BANG!_

* * *

Had he truly been thinking about it, Kurt Wagner could have never believed the luck that had been graced upon him. The thought of fears, nightmares, and other horrid matters, be they real or something drudged up by his overactive imagination had seemingly been shoved away from sight as he bathed in the warmth of all the excitement there was to be had. He enjoyed the laughter of those watching him cautiously as he launched himself forward, his long arms eagerly stretching forward to let loose with a series of swashbuckling thrusts and ripostes that had been gathered from a growing instinct that had long lain at the tip of his cerebral cortex. To ask for him to hold it back any further would have been laughably futile and the fact that his watchers did no such thing only caused his wide smile to grow even brighter.

"Take it easy on those bad guys, my boy. Otherwise you're going to overload the emergency ward and I'm going to have to work all night."

"Oooooh, hush up," admonished another observer, the tone of the reproving woman a great deal lighter than the baritone tones of her husband. "Did you enjoy the movie, sweetie?"

"Uh huh," Kurt replied, the boy not perturbed in the least by the suspicion that his skin should not be so smooth or devoid of fur. Likewise, the caution that could have come from the realizations that his eyes could not easily pierce their way through the shadows or that his fingers seemed to fit so easily with his mother's as they locked hands could have easily broken him from his good mood but those fleeting thoughts could bring no shock or surprise that could have broken him from his contentment.

And why should it have? After all, if a child cannot know the satisfaction that comes with being with their family, with friends and loved ones that could and most certainly would protect them while working to guide him along the road that life would have to offer them, then what else can they truly have? And it was with that knowledge that allowed Kurt to remain completely unaware as another fellow made his presence felt, the man's hardened features accentuated by the poor lighting around the alleyway and the slow _pitter patter _of long-fallen raindrops that had finally slipped from the rooftop it had been trapped upon in order to plunge to the cold cement below.

"All right, pal," the gunman rasped while pointing the gun first at the father and then at the mother. "Don't want any trouble here. Just gimme the nice pearls and everyone kin go home safe an' sound."

It didn't matter that time seemed to slow down right in front of him, the sudden tardiness of fate seemingly giving him an almost infinite amount of time to move. He remained frightfully still as the impatient mugger reached forward in quickly mounting desperation, panicked as his father grabbed the robber's unencumbered wrist.

The barrel of the gun was pointed straight at Thomas Wayne's heart.

The trigger was pulled.

Smoke rose to mingle with the blood as the stranger fired once again.

The sound of dingy rainwater rumbled through his head.

* * *

The grunt that escaped Harvey Dent's scarred lips was a nearly even mixture of physical anguish and psychological frustration. The familiar pain of a bullet sinking into and through his left shoulder blade did little to compete with the frustration that came with knowing that he had been outfoxed by someone that he should have gotten the better of. Of course, the brash, toothy grin that The Flash replied in response made couldn't have made Dent's failure any less aggravating to him but that point was still rendered moot as the former car mechanic thrust the ball of his right foot right into the injured shoulder. Pain exploded through Two-Face's torso to the degree that he could barely let out a scream before passing out from the pain, the added ligament and tissue damage enough to overwhelm even his impressive constitution.

"Thought you could turn me dark, did ya?" Wally asked his unconscious foil as he painfully rose back up to his feet, his once difficult task suddenly made a great deal easier as a familiar flux of energy began to flow through his body once again. "But you broke the rules! Under section 37B of the contract signed by you, it states quite clearly that all offers shall become null and void if - and you can read it for yourself in this photostatic copy: YOU GET NOTHING! YOU LOSE! GOOD DAY, SIR!"

Two-Face could not quite cobble up an appropriate reply, his still body partially hidden from view by a smoky, green ether that seemed to be doing its best to escape his clutches. It was only a matter of seconds before the palpable array of eldritch energy had faded from sight, those sudden moments easily running hand-in-hand with Wally's sudden reunion with the power that once again made him The Fastest Man Alive. The victor then let out another tired breath as he felt his accelerated metabolism put itself to its newfound tasks, his advanced recuperative abilities quickly healing the cuts along his face and chest while closing up the bullet wound in his leg through a hasty reconstruction of sinew and muscle.

"Two-faced son of a bitch!" Wally spat out in a rather victorious manner. "DAMN, that felt good!"

* * *

_Carroll Avenue_

There were so many, many ways for Kara to dispel the dozens of entranced citizens of Gotham that had been manipulated to follow the disturbing enjoins of Jervis Tetch. To name just one example, she could employ her lanky yet phenomenally powered limbs to bat aside the humans the way her aggressors would likely deal with a troublesome fly. She could bring her light-bending speed to bear in order to summon a whirlwind that could scatter them like twigs, release the heat stored in her optic nerves to skin off their bones or make a simple fluctuation of her body temperature that would allow her to create a swell of glacial air that could render intense hypothermia in nearly three-tenths of a second.

But that wouldn't leave these poor souls safe and sound when all was said and done.

And that was the problem, wasn't it?

Her cousin had once stood before the eyes of this world and claimed that he sometimes felt that everything around him seemed to be made of paper, that sometimes even the slightest of mistakes could lead to something that would inalterably damage what he had sworn to protect. Granted, it was a phenomenally stupid thing to say in the presence of the public eye and it had helped spawn a backlash of fear and hatred for all things greater than human within the general public but the simple fact remained that Kara felt much the same. More so, as a matter of fact, and the fear that came with it was perhaps the one thing that kept her thoughts rumbling and her eyes wide open in the early hours of the morning.

She had told Bruce of that fear and he promised that he would do what he could to make things better for her. She whispered that trepidation to her lover while in the safety of their shared bed and Lloyd understood. He helped her not only find the ways to better control the phenomenal power within her but also gave her a good helping of avenues she could use to release the occasionally burdensome tension that came with the lessons (some of these paths being decidedly more entertaining than others). However, even with all the help and kind words and kinder actions, all it took was a single recollection of that last, fleeting look into her mother's eyes to give her the proof she needed to know that it would always be a struggle.

And this particular labor was proving to be quite taxing. Her dozens of hours of neurofeedback and meditation-based training kept her from falling to her knees in the midst of the struggle but left her no room to do anything else, the prickling sensations of more and more of Gotham's citizens digging their teeth into every bit of her flesh they could find.

"Delectable Alice, I must now declare, your anguish and pain sets my soul light as air," Tetch chattered on with a throaty moan as he slowly abandoned his seat at the front of the table in order to make his way forward, the sight of his greatest of wishes and most abhorrent of nightmares coming true leaving him in a near-dreamlike state. "Exquisite and lovely, your sight so appealing, yet absent of mind and with thoughts quickly fleeting."

Kara did her best to avoid creating a shockwave or a harmful spray of gravel as she leapt free of the clutching arms and sinking teeth before making a beeline for the hypnotist. Seeing the rupture of his idyllic scene, the so-called Mad Hatter responded with an irritated snarl before once again taking hold of a good portion of the half-Kryptonian's mind, his enhanced powers of mental manipulation allowing him to send the rebellious object of his desire crashing back to the ground, her flaxen hair spooling forward until the tips of it were a mere several feet from the tips of his polished dress shoes.

"I have asked you to portray your chosen role and you continue to fail miserably," Tetch nearly whined in protest, his discontent forcing him out of both his dreamlike state as well as his desire to engage in poetic verse. "What will it take to allow you to learn your place, my licentious slattern? Must I cause your filth-strewn blood to flow upon the streets like a summer rainfall?" His overlarge skull allowed his top hat to remain in place as he bent down and met Kara's eyes, his chapped lips only inches from Kara's pale, sweat-covered face as his stubby hands procured a wickedly sharp knife from his olive-green tweed sport coat. "Why can you never do as you're told?"

In his defense, Tetch had no real way of knowing that he had just picked a frightfully foolish approach of demeaning his chosen opponent. The realization only started to come to him as he was being carried high into the air, the large eyes of his lovely Alice shifting from their sparkling blue to a terrifying crimson red. Panicking quickly in the midst of the unforeseen circumstance, he tried desperately to bring forth the powers that Krona had bequeathed to him, the gift that would have allowed him to pierce through the defenses of even the strongest of wills but still found himself rather lacking in the face of a woman who had been twisted and manipulated in such a manner from the moment she came to being. His entire body continued to churn and struggle from the physical strain even as they came to a stop, the diseased man's only true source of consistency stemming from the unflinching anger in Kara's eyes.

"I'm only going to say this once," Kara said through teeth clenched so tightly together that her very molars began to creek. "Nobody controls me! Not now and not _EVER AGAIN!_"

It shouldn't have been too surprising that Tetch could not respond with anything that had the slightest sense of coherency. In fact, it was nearly a wonder that he was able to let loose with a terrified gurgle that caused a sliver of spittle to leak out the right side of his mouth. However, as satisfying as that sight could have been, Kara found it somewhat lacking and kept the bright blaze in her normally serene gaze as she pulled the Mad Hatter closer.

"Remember when The Black Dog tried to get some information out of you by treating you like a human yo-yo?" Kara asked, the horrified glaze that had run over Tetch's green eyes providing the answer. "That's my boyfriend. And please bear in mind that he's the sensible one in our relationship."

The former Supergirl didn't even give her adversary the time to scream before hurling him back to the ground, the half-Praxian's incredible strength forcing her living projectile to coast towards the ground at quite the impressive pace. She knew enough of her abilities to recognize that the combination of the velocity of his travels and his distance from the ground would quickly bring a fresh, new pain to The Mad Hatter's senses, his bones and muscles doubtlessly already threatening to stretch and snap in the face of the blistering winds and immense pressure. That being said, she gave it another few seconds before pouring on the speed and intercepting the sou'wester obsessed former technical designer, the venom in her words and actions fading away well before she had plucked Tetch into her hands the way a heron would snatch up a slow-moving snake. Her trip through the skies and down through the Gotham skyline was little more than a series of deep breaths and she soon found herself perched upon the rooftop of a high-end clothing store, the vantage point allowing her an unobstructed glimpse of the citizens below as they struggled to understand what had led them to attend what turned out to be quite the inauspicious gathering.

"Well, that was hardly the most pleasant way of working out my anger issues," Kara thought aloud, her face momentarily obscured by the emerald-colored dew wafting up from Tetch's cataleptic form before casting itself into the sky. "But it'll do."

* * *

Bruce figured that, if he just stretched his ears enough, he could hear the hum of the movie reels as they cycled the spools of film through their pleasant path. He did his best to remain quiet as he allowed his nose to explore with a smattering of tiny sniffs, the dark-haired boy finding himself nearly intoxicated by the combined scents of ozone, popped kernel corn, and the tiny drips of rainfall slipping through the apertures of the wooden roof above. He had wanted to ponder over just how many films had been played in this quiet building and how many people had come inside to enjoy the fantastical sights and sounds but, of course, it only took the opening notes of the beginning score for him to abandon the playful pursuit, the input of sound serving as a direct order to his eyes instructing them to turn towards the dilapidated screen. After all, it was now only a matter of time before the exploits of his hero, his _inspiration_ would be subject to his perusal and that was a meal that would not wait to be consumed.

Yes, there were a few things that seemed a little off but the sensation wasn't nearly enough to overcome the happiness and contentment bubbling around his bones. Still, it did tempt him to take just a handful of seconds to take another look around the friendly confines. He scanned the wooden seats below and the families clustered around, gazed upward back at the thatched roof of the theater and then turned to meet the black-and-white screen and it wasn't until right then that it finally sunk home.

He was hanging upside down.

By a tail.

Not even Bruce could figure out how he managed to land on his feet as the shock brought about by his state of affairs caused him to lose his unusual grip. The muffled _whoompf _that rose from the wood below his feet prompted the children around him to let out shushes and other warnings for him to be quiet, the short warnings nearly drowned out by everything else that he could just now see. His gleaming yellow eyes roamed frantically over all six of his long fingers before focusing on the thumbs and the long nails that allowing him to dig into the ground with only the slightest of scrapes. The sight of his six toes, the long bones stretched to make his feet more animal-like than man, prompted the child to let out a mangled gasp as his brain struggled to take everything in.

_What am I? _

Only a second was needed before the understanding struck home.

_I am the star of The Margali Circus, the greatest show in all of Europe_. The toothy smile that snuck upon his face at this realization prompted some of the children around him to let out some quiet chuckles in response to his goofy behavior. _And I am with my family_.

The relief that ran through his veins quickly brought the boy back to where he should have been, his pupiless eyes nearly refusing to look anywhere but at the screen. The minutes passed on like a gentle eternity as he watched Don Diego de la Vega take on the wicked Captain Ramon with a style that was all his own. It could never be matched and never be duplicated but, oh, that did not stop Bruce from imagining the thrill of riding a jet-black Andalusian over the plains of America, his eyes sparkling as he saw himself taking on thieves and crooked soldiers with nothing more but his whips and a sharp rapier. He even didn't feel the slightest hint of disgust as the so-called Curse of Capistrano wooed the lovely Volita, a boy's natural distaste for witnessing romance easily overcoming his blind praise of the masked hero.

It was nothing less than his ambitions spilled out into the open for all to see.

And, like many of the most innocent of dreams, it was only a matter of time before the cruel hand of reality would intercede and push it aside. In fact, it hadn't even been kind enough to attack in a manner that was surprising or deserving of such a misfortune as his brother Stefan let out a cough that managed to catch the shoddy acoustics of the walls around them, the slight noise wafting downward to be intercepted by a craggy-looking woman who swept her eyes up in response. A familiar inevitability sunk into the boy's chest as he knew that the veil that had been cast on the crowd would no longer hold. They would no longer see him as an acrobatic boy in a vivid costume that served as the star of the show that most of them had doubtlessly saw just several hours before.

"MONSTER!" the old bat shrieked while pointing a withered ring finger straight at him, the force of her shriek quickly convincing others to see what could have possibly brought such fear to being. The small awning that he and his adopted brothers and sisters had been perched upon left no room for Bruce to hide and soon the one scream from below turned into a cacophony of confused questions, screams, and a litany of violent threats. A small handful of the others simply ran from the theater in fright of him, the unseeing rush of one boy jostling aside an old man so violently that he lost a hold of a silver cigarette lighter that quickly tumbled beneath the floorboards. Only a few seconds more were needed before the sound of rising flames were able to pierce the floors and make themselves heard to the mob above, the added plumes of smoke and the stench of burning nitrate film providing even more clues that the old movie house was no longer a safe place to be.

The inhuman speed and senses that his body offered had long allowed Bruce to have an intriguing perspective on life as he saw it. His ears allowed him to piece out the urgent warnings of his espoused family even as they all moved to scamper away from the danger and the noisy anger below morphed into a raucous, all-pervading fear. It allowed for him to watch the fire quickly incinerate the building's supports, the cracking and splintering of the wooden planks sending a handful of stragglers into the unseeing arms of the unforgiving inferno. His sharply tuned nose allowed him to sift through the sweat and fear and pick up the blood flowing from a nasty gash on the face of the little girl that had clapped so fiercely for him as he descended from the center ring and bowed before the crowd only hours before.

But there was nothing he could have done to prevent to girl from falling into the flames as well. And, as the frantic fight between Zorro and Don Del Oro completely drowned out the girl's screams, his heart could do nothing but shatter silently.

* * *

_Gotham – Robinson Park_

Despite being a lifelong fan of much of what her birthplace had to offer, Stephanie could never quite find the appeal of this place. Maybe it was her allergies that had come out to play whenever her mom had taken her here back when she was a kid or the lack of video games or the excess of bizarre art projects that were inevitably doused by the urine of numerous domesticated animals but the fact remained that the young Green Lantern had never been sold on the virtues of Gotham's most prominent public works project. Now, however, as the massive playground teemed with giant, walking trees, hellish tendrils of spiked ivy and sinuous branches that continuously threatened to either bludgeon her body or choke the life out of her surprisingly healthy lungs, she had to admit that she liked what Pamela Isley had done with the place. Sort of Ralph Nader meets Maurice Sendak.

Of course, there wasn't much of a chance that Bats would approve of the renovations (and gee golly you'd think that somebody who wanted to change Gotham for the better would be a little more open to things like this) so she supposed it was time to put an end to this mildly amusing madness. She started things off by putting her eldritch weed whacker to good use by fending off a flurry of thorn-laden vines while sending a spiral-shaped beam of energy straight between the makeshift eyes of the Ent that had bashed her through a brick wall only moments ago, the focused shot bringing down Treebeard's more polished cousin quickly and easily. Her efforts caused Poison Ivy to start screaming about one thing or another, most likely some bull hookie about ripping the flesh off her bones or wanting to restore the dignity of the green and blahdeblahdeblahdeblah but Robin quickly chose to tune out the scarlet-haired psycho as she went about the task of containing the hectic battlefield. After all, that was easily the best way for her to ensure the safety of anyone stupid enough to look and see what was going on while also keeping Isley focused on her.

A smart plan, all things considered. Maybe, when this is all over, she'll be rewarded with a cookie.

"Your polluted power from another world will never be enough to overcome Nature's fury!" Isley roared while continuing to employ her control over plant life to bring more foul machinations of twisted scenery to be placed under her command. A whirlwind of dirt and loam rose upward to surround the airborne Robin on all sides while a once-peaceful bushel of rose bushes rapidly grew and expanded upward in an attempt to sink their natural defense mechanisms through Stephanie's chest. "For you entire life you have swindled the opportunities this precious land has given to you and now you shall rightfully suffer for your mista_aack_!"

An explosion of emerald light that sprang from the ring on Stephanie's finger and slowly expanded to cover the entire park finally managed to shut up the longtime eco-terrorist. As instinctual as the energy storm appeared to be, however, it quickly became clear that the hard light only affected the denizens of nature that Isley had chosen to manipulate while leaving the undisturbed plants and trees impressively alone.

"Ya know," Stephanie began before shaking her head back and forth in order to shuffle a good portion of the dirt off of her once well-conditioned hair. "I usually consider myself to be a fairly cheerful ray of sunshine. _However_," she explained before drawing forth her familiar pair of energy claws to easily slice through another angry series of mutated tree branches, "there are three things in this world that still tend to get under my skin."

Despite her voluble efforts to espouse her own philosophy and way of thinking, Isley quickly showed that she wasn't willing to listen to any counterpoints by summoning a series of ivy tendrils that rushed to cut her opponent off.

"Number one is overcontrolling boyfriends with minor OCD issues," Robin continued while avoiding the vines with a series of airborne twists and turns that even Hal Jordan would have had a hard time duplicating. "Don't get me wrong. I loved the way Tim looked in his jeans and those weird, flannel overshirts he was always a fan of but, God, obsessive much? Number two are those damn meter maids who just seem to do nothing but ticket people who park in timed zones for a minute longer than they should. I mean, I'm working at a non-profit hospital! Don't you think they would find something more deserving to fuck with?"

Robin didn't even give her frustrated adversary the time to respond before sending Isley crashing to the ground with an airborne roundhouse kick. She stayed on her foe as the two of them rushed to the ground, her creative mind allowing her to quickly summon a spray of eldritch flame that, when doused upon her already aggrieved foe, caused Poison Ivy to let out another ungodly scream as she frantically rolled around on the ground in an effort to put herself out.

"And number three, and please listen closely here because I don't like repeating myself," the youngest of Earth's Green Lanterns carried on as Isley continue to screech and suffer, "are people that don't think that I can hold my own." A quick snap of her fingers briefly preceded the dying down of the flames she had summoned, the damage of her onslaught having easily decided the battle. "So, okay, I'm not some half-demon child with a shiny sword and a couple millennia of field experience or an alien misfit who use to have some awful fashion sense and is now so damn good that she can run rings around me even when she's moping about her horrible, critically acclaimed past. The bottom line is that I'm still Robin and I'm still a Green Lantern and I'm still gonna go toe-to-toe with anything this bad world wants to throw at me and yooooooouuuuuuu. . ."

Stephanie slammed her fist into Isley's chlorophyll-stained cheek with a precise but powerful right hook, the impact of bone on bone producing a highly satisfying _KRACK_ that rang sweetly in the Green Lantern's ears even after the woman known as Poison Ivy fell down to the earth.

"You just don't stack up," Robin informed her unconscious opponent in a matter-of-fact manner, her temporarily serious demeanor once again shifting back to its usual winsome ways. A slight smile once again graced her heart-shaped face as a green dew began to seep away from Isley's body and into the tall evening skies, the knowledge she gleaned with the aid of her ring giving her a good idea of what the mysterious energy meant in reference to her persisting troubles.

"All right, Puppy," she whispered softly. "We're all on board. Now it's time for you to clear the bases."

* * *

_The Worldview_

The Sentry could only guess what was happening as Lloyd suddenly became surrounded by a cloud of green energy, the unknown force seemingly crowding around the younger man like countless moths to an unending flame.

"Knew I could count on you lot," Lloyd grumbled while sporting a good-natured smirk, his eyes clamped shut as he concentrated on gathering all the spare temporal energy that Krona could provide.

"What are you talking about?" asked The Sentry, the fair-haired Avenger still phenomenally confused.

The Black Dog responded by opening his eyes, his normally hazel orbs now saturated in a bizarre silver hue. "Fortune smiles upon us, Mister Reynolds," he replied with a smile. "I know how we're gonna pull this one out and, thanks to me mates, I know exactly how to do it."

"Are you serious?" The Sentry inquired, his lack of understanding not enough to dissuade the hope he felt at the possibility of a solution. "What can I do to help?"

The British half-demon snaked his left hand forward to once again grab The Sentry's wrist, his small fingers seemingly bathed in an alien energy as he began a long-remembered chant.

"_Qua illic est infirmitas una permissum lamino reperio suum vires in iunctum. Duos animes es unus. Duos es unus."_

It was only fair that the master of all he surveyed was able to feel the explosion of energy occurring some distance away. However, the intrigue that Krona couldn't help but feel bubbling in his chest could almost be considered a betrayal of his own sense and nature and the mad genius quickly moved to defuse it before he did anything more. The sight of the blood-drenched cut along Kal-El's throat emboldened him with some measure of confidence before tossing the nearly dead Kryptonian aside in order to address his final challenge. Dying down the aura of energy circulating around him, the Maltusian allowed The Sentry to put on the greatest show of power that he could offer, the former champion of his Earth spreading the midnight-black energy of The Void to twist around and through the golden glow that radiated the strength of dozens of exploding suns.

"You saying you wanted to be tested?" asked Lloyd Thomas and Robert Reynolds, their voices merging together as one. "Try us on."

* * *

_Misfits Confidential_

Hey, everybody! Have you been waiting long?

Well, given that I keep telling my students that honesty is the best policy, I suppose it's only fair that I should just be upfront in explaining my absence. Well, the simple fact is that there was about a two-week stretch where life decided to throw me on a very busy crazy train to the tune of more work hours, a new apprenticeship, and an increasingly failed romantic relationship. Nothing that I couldn't survive or thrive from, mind you, but still a series of events that really made me recognize that I only had so much time for a certain number of things and writing turned out to be the big one. That being said, I think I've got everything back under a sound measure of control and should now be getting back to making biweekly updates. My apologies for the unexplained absence but, hey, this man's gotta pay his bills.

And write a next chapter preview, come to think of it.

* * *

_Final Chapter Preview_

All righty then! It's time for the main event: The Black Dog and The Sentry merged together to take on Krona with the fate of two realities on the line? But will the combined power of a schizophrenic Bendis creation and a shamelessly crafted original character be enough to take on the creature who has witnessed the creation of everything? What has Billy Batson done to Batman and Nightcrawler? Did Bob, Agent of H.Y.D.R.A. manage to get a ride home and how the hell is the author going to fit Deadpool back into the story? Find out in the seventh and final installment of _With Apologies to Bea Arthur_: Rose Nylund Never Had a Brain. Until then, remember to say what you think and write what you feel!


	7. Rose Nylund Never Had A Brain

Chapter Seven

Rose Nylund Never Had a Brain

_Oa – Green Lantern Corps Headquarters – 2.37 Light Years from Artificial Dimension Breach #2B79 as classified by the Oa Council_

"Robin the Fourth: double the efficiency with half the testosterone-laden angst. How may I connect your call?"

The calm chortle and the slow, back and forth shake of his head provided a true testament to the listener's ability to stay cool under pressure. "Well, judging from that greeting, I'll take a shot in the dark and say that your boss isn't anywhere around to hear you."

"Hallie!" Stephanie Brown cheered from the other end of the comm. Link. "Okay, so what do you want? We're trying to tidy up Arkham here so Batsie won't yell at us when he gets back.

Hal Jordan couldn't hold back his sigh as he took in the unflattering nickname that the younger Green Lantern's had assigned to him as he self-consciously ran his right hand through his wavy, brown hair. "So I'm guessing that the triangulation point on Earth has already been taken care of?" he hypothesized with upturned eyebrows, the current chairman of the Justice League not surprised but still pleased by the likely conclusion. "Is it too much to hope that you guys have Krona shut down as well?"

"Don't really know about that one. . . OH, GO GET RIBBED FOR YOUR PLEASURE, YA CONDOM WEARIN' FRUTICAKE!," Stephanie bellowed back, her response doubtlessly interrupted by The Flash rushing by in order to yell at her for slacking off on the job. "The last we heard was that Bats, Puppy, and a bunch of other guys went into that Worldview thingamajiggy to take care of that after Billy Boy kept everything from going kablooey."

The first of Earth-1's Green Lanterns thought that bit of news over while rubbing the sparse hairs that had grown upon his cleft chin over the course of the last 36 sleepless hours. "And that would explain how nearly 5,000 Corps members and roughly half the universe seemed to suddenly be wiped from existence before putting itself back together again."

"Aw geez," Stephanie said sourly. "You didn't die, come back to life and go evil this time, did ya?"

"I'll have you know that I did not die and I'm still on the side of the angels. . ." Hal quickly snapped back, the former stunt pilot then taking a moment to consider his company before adding, ". . . for lack of a better term," his extra bit of explaining earning him a disgruntled _pfffft _from his younger comrade-in-arms. "Ganthet and the rest of the Guardians have managed to put a stopgap seal around The Worldview itself in order to block off any more potential matter or anti-matter flow resulting from Krona's magic but the whole area is blocked off from entry and there isn't a spell in the world that can do us a lick of good if the bleed expands like that again."

"Well, at least that buys us some more time, I'm guessing," Stephanie considered. "I'll just have to remind myself not to eat any blueberry muffins in the near future lest I gnaw on one of my supervisor's distant relatives. . . ooh, hold on a second. . . HEY! SHUT THE FUCK UP, YA CARROT-TOPPED, JOKER WANNABE! I'M ON THE MOTHERFUCKIN' CORPS COMMUNICATION LINE HERE!"

The elder of the two Green Lanterns busied himself with grazing the tip of his tongue against his upper mandible as he thought over the possibilities. "Um. . . Stephanie? Is there something going on that I need to know about. . ."

"GOT YOUR ASS KICKED BY ARROWETTE AND YOU DON'T THINK I CAN'T DO SOMETHIN' TO YA?" Stephanie raged on, the fair-haired Gothamite decidedly ignoring Hal's pertinent and perfectly legitimate query "Awwwww, come on, Cissers! You know I don't mean it like that! WHAT? WHAT ABOUT MY MOM? _OH, THAT'S IT! YOU'RE GETTING THE MUZZLE!_"

Colonel Hal Jordan, decorated and distinguished member of both the United States Air Force and the Green Lantern Corps, took a moment to once again question the admission policies of both Bruce Wayne as well as The Green Lantern Corps. To his credit, he did somehow manage to avoid letting out another sigh of annoyance while simultaneously managing to move on to the next matter on his agenda.

"Just in case anyone on that end is interested, the Corps members assigned to examine the dimensional bleed have concluded that there's no way The Worldview alone could have possibly provided Krona with the energy he would need to create an artificial breach of this magnitude."

"Yeahbutwha?" Stephanie inquired in her own astute fashion, the impromptu verbal word jumble providing a strong sign that she hadn't been paying as much attention as she should. "Soooooo. . . you guys are sayin' that somebody else has got a hand in all of this?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Hal answered back in a rather matter-of-fact manner. "And let me just say that I'm quite pleased that you actually can pay attention to someone not wearing rubber bat ears."

"Aw, go make some salad dressing, Paul Newman," Stephanie clawed back, the image of Robin's undoubtedly narrowed eyes almost forcing Hal to laugh. "Well, I guess that'll give us something else to look over if we don't all die in the next few minutes or so."

"Well, I'm just trying to look on the bright side here," Hal replied with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "You know, I'm starting to think that somebody out there is really giving me the raw end of the deal when it comes to the whole cosmic crisis thing."

"Yeah, I know what you mean!" Stephanie agreed, the younger Green Lantern always happy to find somebody to complain with. "And I thought for sure I'd be in the main event too 'cause I've been on a real roll lately! But, _come on_, I go from Parallax to Sinestro to a friggin' souped-up Poison Ivy?!"

"At least you got to do fight somebody," Hal bit back, his own occasional yearnings for the spotlight egging him on. "I was doing clean-up detail while you guys were taking on The Anti-Monitor and the best I could do in Gotham was a throw down with a giant elephant man."

"Aw, come on. We couldn't have summoned The Spectre if it wasn't for you," Robin offered off in an attempt to placate one of Earth's greatest champions. "Andyou kept Brother Eye from totaling half of South America _and _you were pretty much the public face of global defense for a year while Superman and Wonder Woman were out traipsing around trying to 'find themselves'," she added, the disdain in her tone when speaking the last two words prompting Hal to let out a derisive snort.

"Well, I guess all we can do is just look forward to next time," Hal said after a bit of thought and self-assurance.

"Yeah," Stephanie agreed. "Unless we all die in the next couple minutes."

"Well, yeah, there is that."

* * *

_The Worldview_

"Do you realize the utter foolishness of what you've done, Mister Thomas?" Krona asked, the Maltusian scientist padding his present argument with a derisive look of utter disenchantment.

Unfortunately for the virtues of the classic strategic argument, the fused form of Lloyd Thomas and Robert Reynolds chose not to give any more time for the orchestrator of the chaos around them to talk as they surged towards him with a flash of black and gold. The phenomenal force that coupled their thrown left hook which crashed across their opponent's prominent chin threatened to break the limb that threw it, the jarring impact sending off a shockwave that thankfully flung the two wounded Supermen further away from what was to come. Barely wasting a second on the safety of their formerly conscious comrades, a quick teleportation allowed the two of them to quickly catch up with Krona as the creator of the Multiverse was also involuntarily hurtled away as well, an enormous sphere of energy forming around their joined hands as they moved to press their advantage. The discovery that they had waited too long was then quickly revealed as their powerful adversary swerved around the shot before countering with a telekinetic burst that collided hard with their shared sternum, the wellspring of pain leaving Lloyd hard-pressed to contain the power he put upon himself to control.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," Krona continued on while punishing his rude listeners with surgical-like strikes to the face, neck, and shoulders. "The logic behind your employment of the Knal'tak-sho Fusion Chant was sound but you failed to fully consider the disadvantages that came with the useless sack of meat and bones you chose to be your physical vessel." A timely forearm block thought up by The Black Dog and put into place by The Sentry brought the battle to a more even footing and prompted Krona to let out a mild grunt. "Your half-breed paramour, for all her psychologically based shortcomings, was at least comfortable with the responsibility that would come with performing your shared tasks," the deposed Oan scientist continued to explain while simultaneously moving the fight forward with a flurry of punches that his opponent found hard to break away from. "Unfortunately for you, Mister Reynolds is no longer capable of such an honorable capacity."

"Sounds like an interestin' theory, all affronts to my lovely lady aside," Lloyd countered, the sound of his rough, British candor sounding quite out of place when blended with The Sentry's All-American countenance. "Might be a bit easier to piece together without all the ten-dollar drivel though," he offered while pushing The Sentry to batter away at Krona's abdomen with a pair of kicks before following up with a stern right cross that drew blood along the right side of their adversary's face.

"Don't be coy, you misbegotten child," Krona snarled only a fraction of a second after catching the left hand of his opponent. "I am merely attempting to inform you that you have aligned your fate with nothing more than a fallen champion, a failure whose mistakes and miscalculations have come to easily overlap any nobility that could have been garnered from his many past pursuits."

A blindingly bright flash of light spurt from Krona's eyes, the explosion of energy forcing a roar of pain from The Sentry's lips as he and Lloyd were hurtled backwards by the kinetic force that came with the spectral detonation.

"His mental instability and utter lack of self-control now strikes fear and apprehension in the hearts and minds of his allies more so than his foes," Krona continued while finally drawing blood with punches that cut into his opponent's face. "He forces the woman he loves to suffer through a laborious existence pockmarked by panic and insecurity while aligning himself with a band of manipulators, monsters, and murderers he could do away with a dozen times over were he equipped with the slightest degree of integrity."

Lloyd felt himself nearly lose control of the web of energy around his astral form as he felt the guilt and pain rising from his now decidedly unwilling partner, the dual tasks of controlling both the physical body and the power behind it threatening to become too much to bear. A series of careful leg parries followed by a palm thrust that landed across the left side of the mad genius' head bought him some precious breathing room but it still didn't stop the broadening smirk that had surfaced on Krona's face.

"He is weak, unsure, and a dismal waste of what he's become and now everything you know will perish by your choice to die alongside him."

Lloyd wished he could provide some form of fiery defiance (or at least fire back a particularly pithy retort) in the face of Krona's cold logic but found himself occupied as the creator of the dimensional bleed went on the attack once again.

"_He's right. He's absolutely right," _The Sentry mumbled from somewhere within the inner recesses of their shared mind. _"All these things I've done that I'll never be able to make up for. All that damage to the city after the fight with The Hulk. . . the Skrull invasion. . . I'll never be able to make everything right. I'll always get it wrong. . ."_

"_Oh, for God's sakes," _Lloyd interrupted while trying his best not to scream. _"Nobody's askin' ya to do everything right! Just help me work on this thing we've got going on here in the present time! Just pilot the body while I make certain that everything else stays on the straight and narrow."_

Needless to say, the worried mumbling that Robert Reynolds provided in return didn't give The Black Dog a great deal of confidence that The Sentry was ready for such a task. The British-born half-demon cursed his opponent for pulling off such a successful gambit and lambasted himself for not realizing it sooner and that distraction allowed for even more strikes and energy blasts to crash through his defenses as the long seconds wore on. Thinking quickly, he thought of never again hearing Scandal's reassuring words, of never being frustrated as Stephanie teased him or forced him to come out of his quiet shell, and of being robbed of seeing the calm on Kara's face as she slept beside him and put himself back in focus before the fear that came with such thoughts threatened to strike him down.

_Come on, Billy Boy_, he prayed while continuing to push himself forward. _Give me somethin' more to work with here!_

* * *

Kurt Wagner wished that he no longer had to move.

He would have given anything to stop his body from shaking because the quivering caused the dabble of his mother's blood that had fallen onto his left wrist to slowly slip down on its way to falling off his fingertips. He cursed his body for forcing him to breathe, the hitched inhales and exhales only prompting tears to leak from his eyes that much quicker. Each of his tiny failures only provided an infinite and unforgiving supply of reminders that what he wanted was an impossibility. He would eventually have to move, time would continue on, and he would have to move on while his mother and father would remain in this alley that reeked of rainwater and human refuse.

And he would never get them back.

Ever.

The weight of that realization forced him to be silent, the despair refusing to leave him with even the energy to say anything to combat the wrong of it all.

"Are you all right?"

Kurt spun around in order to let out a silent snarl at the source of the unwanted sympathy, his tiny hands still holding a tight grasp on his mother and father's bloodstained coats. The moment of surprise was an unwilling display of weakness and vulnerability, faults that he would never allow himself to suffer through again, and the fact that he had failed prompted him to lash out both at the stranger as well as himself. His own self-hatred was even enough to hide any shock or fear he could have felt from the unwanted trespasser's bizarre appearance, the monster's indigo-colored fur and pointed tail only providing him with an even more stressing reason to do whatever he could to keep this enemy away. The unfettered compassion radiating in the creature's yellow, pupiless eyes was completely lost on the heartbroken child, the low growl rumbling from his throat and barely escaping his clenched teeth providing yet another menacing warning to stay away.

"I do not want to hurt you," the abomination said gently, the soft lilt of an Eastern Germanic brogue making Bruce Wayne sound far older than he should have been. "I. . . I lost my parents too. . ."

Kurt cocked his head to one side the way a hungry animal would examine someone it wasn't quite ready to trust. Lowering his hips in order to protectively stoop above his mother and father, he narrowed his deep, blue eyes while slowly giving Bruce another once over.

"How. . . how did you lose them?"

Bruce offered a somewhat lopsided grin as he deftly moved the long fingers on his right hand to scratch at an imaginary inch on the back of his neck. "I never knew my father and my mother abandoned me on the day I was born," he finally said gently, the lack of animosity in his voice clearly indicating that what could have been grievous wounds had left nothing but an everlasting scab to be glossed over every now and again. "But now I have others who care for me, who watch out for me despite what I may appear to be."

Kurt's eyes were wide and facing straight ahead but he still couldn't see. _How could such a thing be even possible_?

"What will I do now?" he asked dimly, the enormity of his conundrum forcing him to lower his head before looking back up at the familiar stranger with a panicked desperation. "What did you do?"

The kindly, young abomination extended his long, stringy arms wide with all the charm and grace of a veteran stage performer responding to a raucous crowd. "I will choose to make the world my stage," Bruce responded with a wide smile, his living dreams of daring deeds seemingly dancing in front of his senses. "I shall show everyone that our lives are what we choose to make of them and not the labels that are handed to us. The love I will have for life shall overcome the fear that seeks to suffocate us all."

The other boy took a moment to think that over, the temptation provided by such an impressive undertaking enough for him to loosen the death grip on what remained of his mother and father. His lips seemingly stumbled over the words lodged in his throat as he observed Bruce looking down on him with an excited gaze.

"But that. . . but that's impossible," Kurt almost whispered, his voice not holding a hint of malice or intent to do harm but still managing to do more harm than anything else he could have chosen to do. "You can't change what other people think about what they see, at least not every time." It was a realization born from wisdom that could not have possibly been realized by the cognitive limits of a child but the boy still couldn't help but feel the gap in his heart that came with the inevitability. He felt his eyes narrow as a hot, remorseless anger eagerly rose to fill that aperture, the cold fury reducing what was once a desperate scream to a growl of defiance.

"I will hone my body and mind in order to put an end to all crime. I shall show all those who seek pain upon others to know the fear they create with their own immoral deeds. No one will have to suffer the misery that I was forced to endure at the hands of monsters and maniacs who relentlessly pursue their own desires regardless of the safety of others."

Kurt's stern vow gave Bruce enough time to recover from his own pain, his elfin ears twitching as his mind was suddenly struck with an impressive insight of his own. "But you can't change everything that makes the world, _ja_?" Bruce asked, his tone suddenly losing a fair share of its exotic accent. "After all, if we do not know emptiness then how can we know when or if we are ever truly fulfilled?"

A million counter statements seemed to simultaneously rise onto the tip of Kurt's tongue, the massive litany of words fervently trying to make their presence felt. Of course, there was no way that such havoc could produce anything of use and the silence that soon followed was only interrupted by the sound of besmirched rainfall continuing to sweep down onto the alleyway around them, the feeling of loss and uncertainty giving way to a sense of absolute helplessness that seemed impossible for any child to overcome.

"We will never receive what we truly desire," Bruce finally said, his indigo fur melting into the surrounding shadows as if he were attempting to hide from the world. In turn, the harsh truth behind the realization prompted Kurt to lean even closer to the blood-stained bodies at his feet, the child desperately looking to be protected, to be guided down the path that would lead him to becoming whatever he was supposed to be. However, as the two boys caught each others' eyes once again in the midst of their wanderings, a new thought occurred to them. That shared understanding prompted Kurt to twist his mouth upwards in a wide grin that the child of Thomas and Martha Wayne would find quite uncomfortable while Bruce responded with a half-smirk that didn't look the least bit right on Nightcrawler's sharp, angular features.

"But what else is there to do but to try?" Kurt asked, his body seemingly bathed within a golden-white light that stayed with him even as his pale skin and childish frame grew taller, thinner, and surrounded by fur. His gleaming eyes suddenly found themselves hard pressed to decipher whatever was going on within the similar glow expanding around his comrade but it still didn't take long to recognize that Bruce Wayne had also been restored to his proper body and mind, the taller but more muscular detective not even bothering to examine himself as a clap of thunder blasted above their heads.

Nightcrawler supposed that he could have offered some kind words or friendly advice as Batman spent a handful of seconds unwilling examining the illusion of the two bodies laying still on the filthy ground, never to rise again, but a shared memory quickly caused him to soften his gaze and wait for whatever was to come.

"It never ends, does it?" Batman asked as he extended his hand.

Kurt resisted the urge to laugh as he grasped the elder man's hand and shook it firmly. "No, I'm pleased to say that it does not," he answered with a hint of a wistful air, his lively tone prompting The Caped Crusader to reply with a half-smirk that threatened to break into a smile .

"I suppose that can be an occasional comfort," Bruce finally offered, the hardened soul absolutely unwilling to offer anything that could have been remotely confused with the cheerfulness his comrade was eager to provide. "We have a job to do."

"Ach, yes," Nightcrawler said as he allowed Batman to cease the handshake. "Yet another attempt to achieve our futile dreams so that others can carry on their merry ways." Kurt couldn't help but show his teeth in a wide grin as he watched Batman seemingly do war with his instinct to respond with an angry glare. "But enough poetry, I suppose. Shall we continue onward?"

Despite his intentions, Batman responded to the pithy words with what could almost be considered a grin.

"I see no reason not to."

* * *

It suddenly didn't matter to Lloyd whether or not The Sentry was too far gone to take heart in the recent goings on. Just like everything else in the present time, he found himself somewhat content to break out a smile of his own. "Now we're getting somewhere," he announced only a moment after successfully pushing back Krona's ambitious offensive with a hastily made solar flare. The surprisingly confident young man took a moment to get a better hold of the power around him, the superficial wounds and interior physical damage that Krona had been eager to divvy out healing quickly despite the strain that came with the efforts.

"And just what are you so foolishly confident about?" asked Krona while providing an irritated snarl.

"Oh, don't mind me. Just made a little observation that suddenly makes me pleased as punch," Lloyd cheerfully countered, his borrowed body suddenly surrounded by a firm nimbus of midnight-black energy. "Ya know how ya tried to shake me off my game with a little fear and insecurity?"

Krona's sudden rush forward didn't provide The Misfits' second-in-command with the most coherent of answers but it was still enough to convince him that he was on the right track. A familiar smirk slipped onto The Sentry's face as he continued to wait for just the right time.

"Well, quid pro quo, ya blueberry-tinted sot!"

Krona couldn't help but be surprised as he found himself suddenly surrounded by an impenetrable flurry of black, bat-shaped energy bolts that briefly floated around him before seemingly slinking their way forward in order to do their work. That surprise turned to outrage and that momentary misstep was enough for the sharp-looking slivers of dark light to somehow pierce their way through his psionic-based defenses. The sinking fear that dove into his thoughts with every successful strike only intensified the physical pain that spurted through every inch of the scientist turned god as his skin was cut and frayed and greenish-black blood spurted from every aperture.

"_Gee, boss. Anyone ever tell you that you're a little obsessed about wot you do?" _Lloyd asked while continuing to manipulate Krona's suffering.

"_Just get back to controlling our energy reserves_," Batman replied, his menacing grumble making its presence felt even through his telepathic speech. _"Nightcrawler, do what you can to get the owner of this body back into commission so he can do his job."_

"_Ach, you do not even give time for a gentleman to familiarize himself, Herr Wayne?" _Nightcrawler asked in return, the lightheartedness in his own candor just as recognizable as the gloom found in The Batman's tones. _"And to ask me to avoid the temptation of such a bountiful stage. . ."_

"_Give it a test drive, elf_," Lloyd fired back over Bruce's grumbling. "_I think I'll be able to get this thing through its paces. After all, I do know a little bit about teleportation."_

"_Yes, but you are merely a student upon my theater young man," _Nightcrawler countered in a decidedly bombastic manner while keeping his mind's eye locked on Krona's increasingly successful efforts to break free of the web of dark energy. _"Allow me to show you how it is really done."_

Wagner found himself quite elated with all he had at his disposal and was all too happy to express his enthusiasm with one teleportation after another after another, the immense physical constitution of Robert Reynolds' body working with Lloyd's energy manipulation abilities to make what was an occasionally stressful exercise into something as simple as breathing.

_BAMF! BAMF! BAMF! BAMF! BAMF! BAMF! BAMF!_

Krona's own agony could barely be heard over the sound of the fused warrior exiting and reentering the dimensional space created within The Worldview. Each arrival was immediately followed with a single strike designed to incapacitate the already aggrieved Maltusian as The Sentry's brawny limbs were shifted into weapons of precise destruction at the hands of one of the most talented hand-to-hand combatants of his time. Even the scientist's impressive metabolism and regenerative capabilities found themselves hard pressed to repair the mounting damage, the reek of brimstone floating down his nostrils mixing with the taste of his own blood to turn his stomach and threaten to overwhelm his senses.

"ENOUGH!" Krona roared before summoning as much temporal energy as he could find and spraying it out in all directions. The desperate but still calculated maneuver bought him the time he needed to charge up a far more dangerous collection of telepathic energy to be summoned at his beck and call. "Your futile defiance ends _now!"_

A decidedly Black Dog-like smirk emerged on the face of the fused warrior as it summoned the Mugalshir to fall into his left hand, the eldritch properties of the gleaming silver saber providing enough of a buffer to easily deflect the blast away. The smirk then shifted into a snarl as a quick round of teleportations brought the champion to Krona's back then again to his front before finally appearing on the left side in order to take a running slice at their adversary's gut. The series of feints and ruses wasn't quite enough to draw the results they desired but the anguished grunt that emerged from Krona's lips as the blade dug an inch deep into the Maltusian's abdomen did provide somewhat of a satisfactory reward for their efforts.

"_Black Dog, do we have enough energy to eliminate Krona?" _Batman asked as he continued to pilot the efficient machine that Robert Reynolds had so quickly left behind.

"_I'm thinkin' so,_" Lloyd replied. _"But it's still not enough to get done what needs getting done. We still need that last piece of the puzzle."_

Batman could even feel the brow of his astral form crease in concern. _"Well, then I would advise you to tell Batson to hurry along," _he advised his second-in-command while keeping an eye on what was certainly an increasingly angered demigod. _"Because evidence is suggesting that this target isn't going to let us sit by and wait."_

* * *

Slade did not even want to consider the offense he felt when the odious imitator currently attempting to kill him had claimed to be some alternate version of himself. Quite frankly, the mere thought that such a noisy, impetuous, impertinent, unprofessional, bloodthirsty clown could possibly be considered a contemporary was threatening to make him angrier than any form of short-term mutiny his recalcitrant daughter could provide. And don't start to think that the fact that Deadpool had managed to nearly match him strike-for-strike did anything to improve his disposition towards the self-proclaimed Merc With A Mouth. Oh no. He could confess that the man's instinctual knowledge of battle could be impressive and his knack for employing his phenomenal healing abilities to provide room to perform maximum damage to his opponents could be considered sound logic but that didn't mean that he was like him in any way, shape, or form.

He would only have to open his ears to disprove that.

"I mean, how on Earth can you take down seven Justice Leaguers without even breaking a sweat but then you can't beat 'iddle Dick Grayson one-on-one, like, twelve issues later!" Wade exclaimed while bending his right arm back for a Jujitsu-style cross-blade block before countering with a left-handed thrust that came inches from slicing into Slade's right ear. "And let's not even get into the fact that Geo-Force beat you by stabbing you with your own sword! Friggin' Geo-Force! I mean, you would never see me get my keester handed to me by a shameless Namor rip-off like that!"

Deathstroke fought on while continuing to have no idea what his far chattier adversary had to say, his phenomenal intelligence and supply of battle instincts enabling the veteran warrior to move quickly from one sword-style to the next. He cut through Wade's pectoral muscles with a left-handed lash, sliced off a sizeable chunk of the mercenary's left shoulder with an overhand slash, and did his best to shut the prattler up with a right-handed thrust that cut through the cartilage surrounding Deadpool's trachea like a hot knife through butter.

"Ooh, and I've never had any of my body parts shot out by one of my exes!" Deadpool added almost a second later, the blood-drenched gap in his throat seemingly closing itself up while the rest of his body worked to ward off Slade's concentrated efforts to slice off as many of his body parts as possible. "Shot at, of course, but not shot off. . . well, unless you count that rather embarrassing spat with Typhoid Mary but I'll have you know my left testicle grew back, thank you very much! Oh, and speaking of girlfriends, what the hell was up with you and Tara Markov? I mean, the girl was like, 15, and you were just drillin' that psycho chica like you were looking for oil in her. . ."

"GRAAAAAAAGH!" Deathstroke bellowed, his inconsolable rage allowing him to somehow weather the pain that came when Deadpool managed to knee him right in his Jack and The Curly Q's. His powerful right hand snacked forward and wrapped around Wade's throat, the strength of his grip easily snapping his opponent's hyoid bone before tearing through the thyroid cartilage surrounding Deadpool's Adam's apple. Wrestling the still-gurgling mercenary down with a modified rolling _shihōnage_that left him holding his opponent down with a forward mount, he abandoned the sword in his left arm in order to put more force in his upcoming, two-handed efforts to cleave Deadpool's head off his shoulders.

"Oh, wow, that was pretty good," Wade managed to gasp out, the temptation to avoid expressing any of the available sexual connotations surprisingly absent from his thoughts.

"That's enough, Deathstroke," warned a firm but serene voice, the light tones somehow managing to cut through the festering rage that rumbled through the Vietnam War veteran. "We no longer have the time to waste on such trifling matters and now we must focus upon the task at hand."

Deadpool looked on as he watched his more serious counterpart let out a grunt of anger, the moment of hesitation forcing the former Weapon-X member to roll his eyes. "Man. Saved by the bastard child of Ronald Reagan. No way I'm going to be able to live this one down," he thought aloud while continuing to look on with a surprising degree of patience as the aforementioned godchild appeared next to them, the sight of Billy Batson's tranquil countenance painting a strong contrast to the rage and frustration pouring over the soldier's shrouded face.

"You know better than this, Slade Wilson," the former Captain Marvel continued on with a sense of quiet urgency. "Clear your thoughts away from what is being said on the outside and choose to focus on what lies within. Take in this portion of yourself and ask why they would behave in such a way. Why would you continue to speak even when there is nothing more to be said?"

Deathstroke couldn't help but feel his own sneer as his powerful mind found itself attracted to the logic in the wizard's otherwise cryptic request. Taking a moment to make certain that his prey could not escape, he cast his memories back to his fellow soldiers clustered around him in that foxhole in the Western foothills of Khe Sahn, his supposed comrades, and how many of them would joke and skitter about confidently even if it was clear to Slade that death would soon be approaching their door. A portion of his mind's eye then forced him to once again sit on that oaken piano bench that Adeline had picked out for him, that polished slab of Brazilian mahogany that perpetually sat at the center of his old manor house as if it were always waiting for him to play the piano it accompanied. Of course, he himself had little more than a supporting character himself in those special shows, his quick fingers helping Joey through as the boy coursed his way through another wonderful song that lifted both the ears and the spirits of the milling crowd around them.

But his precious boy would hardly ever be listening to the applause provided by the surrounding horde. He only had eyes for him and that realization brought Slade to respond with a small but honest smile that made the son he killed with his own two hands reward him with the brightest smile he had ever seen. The happiness that came with that summoned forth another litany of scenes of his youngest child, his thorn-laden Rose, the rebellious little hellion who had endured so much hell at his behest but still managed to give him another undeserved chance to make things right. He continued to earn that reward with every unkind word or incomprehensible argument that came about whenever silence was the far wiser option and the thought of seeing his daughter again made him realize something he was already well aware of.

"Get up, kid," Slade gruffly ordered while rising back to his own two feet, the approving smile that Batson had for him going unnoticed by the usually attentive former mercenary. "But do yourself a favor and save your talk for another time."

Deadpool responded by quirking his head to one side like a curious puppy, the measure of kindness seemingly managing to touch even his own diseased heart. "Wow," he all but whispered. "I mean. . . all that rich character-related complexity. I mean, I don't think I've ever felt so much sympathy for a character since _HIKEEBA_!"

The cross leg lock that Deadpool managed to cobble together on a moment's notice even managed to take Deathstroke by surprise as the elder of the two masked mercenaries soon found himself flopping onto his back. Wade, on the other hand, did not even bother to hold back his mad cackling as he crept to perch above his fallen opponent, the menacing barrel of his Heckler and Koch MP5 squashing Slade's forehead between his skull and the cold metal.

"I can't believe that I finally get to be the guy who gets to shoot somebody point-blank in the head!" Deadpool burbled with a child-like glee, the psychotic mercenary not even bothering to notice that Slade made no effort to free himself from his perilous situation. "Ooh, then maybe I'll cut your head off just to see if it grows back! Or. . . or maybe. . ."

"Wade. . ." Batson interrupted, his voice holding a fairly healthy amount of patience. "Do you happen to remember the story your mother told you about the angel seeing the broken down demon in the alleyway?"

Wade Wilson had no choice but to roll his eyes in response to the moppet's attempt to consult the better angels of his nature. "Soooooo not listening to you. I'm the demon here, not Slade, so I don't have to respond. Lalalalalalala!"

"Very well. Then why not go ahead and be rid of him?" Batson countered, his attempt at reverse psychology nearly unleashing the full force of Deadpool's upchuck mechanisms. "But that does beg the question of what you will become if what you were born from becomes no more. Why, perhaps you will be nothing at all! Of course, I don't see a great many merchandising dollars in such a future. . ."

_BANG!_

Okay, so perhaps the bullet that bounced off of the cherubic face of the former Captain Marvel didn't do any physical damage. Still, Deadpool had to admit that it made him feel just a little bit better.

"Damn your Dumbledore-like logic and my occasional conscience," Deadpool grumbled before extending his left hand downward in order to offer Slade some help in getting to his feet. He found the older man's refusal of his kindly offer of assistance to be rather rude. After all, it wasn't as if he was trying to kill the guy. "Welllll, let's just get this MacGuffin party started 'cause we're on page 11 right now and we haven't even taken down the big bad yet."

The guardian of The Rock of Eternity did not even pretend to know what Deadpool meant by that as he put his impressive eldritch manipulation abilities to bear once again, his energy fusing easily with Lloyd's standing spell. It was only a matter of seconds before the bodies of the former combatants seemed to slip away from the living ether around them, the two halves of a peculiar whole mixing together within the havoc that Krona had created.

"The Rule of Three has now been put into play," Batson whispered before fading away, his business here largely concluded. "Let us pray that this shall be enough."

* * *

Lloyd rode The Sentry's body through the explosion of newly gathered energy with a well-practiced ease, his trust in Bruce Wayne to competently oversee the physical aspects of their joint venture well in place as he sensed the two new presences within their increasingly complicated creation. Deadpool, of course, was more than happy to let himself be noticed by anyone who could pay attention, his astral form easily swooping into The Condemner's domain as the talkative hired gun enthusiastically tried to engage in a predictably unusual conversation with The Black Dog's darker half. Slade, on the other hand, was far more subtle with his motions and maneuvers, the veteran warrior silently moving to aid Bruce in his labors. Lloyd allowed himself a quick sigh of relief in response to the turn of events, the arrival of the super-soldier enabling the physical half of the fused warrior to fight with far greater skill and clarity than even The Batman could provide.

Even someone with the professional detachment of Slade Wilson could barely contain the anticipation that washed over him in the midst of his present surroundings. His phenomenal perception analyzed the power within The Sentry's body, examined how the combined eldritch augmentation provided by Batson and Thomas increased that physical might, and even took a moment to observe the impressive power within the Mugalshir and found that even his powerful mind could barely contain the possibilities. Of course, that wasn't about to keep him from trying to discover them as he pushed his newfound vessel forward, his skilled hands allowing him to use Lloyd's saber to deflect any shots or blasts of energy Krona chose to send his way over the course of his travels. Naturally, the transition from defense to offense was as seamless as he had planned it, his forearms and wrists working easily to twist the mystic blade in his hands through a complex pattern of lashes and thrusts that allowed him to cut into Krona's flesh far more often than not. The anguished screams and words of defiance uttered by the self-made deity fell upon deaf ears as he kept his senses attuned to more important matters, his eyes and ears on the lookout for any energy-based counterattack.

"I will tolerate your foul play no longer!" Krona bellowed back only a moment after teleporting away from the decidedly uneven fight, the capacities of the Maltusian's impressive ego still not enough to convince him that his victory was still assured. "I ask you to confront your weaknesses and accept your limitations within an honorable milieu and yet you choose to resort to trickery and deceit! I cannot allow the ignoble fruits of your labor to draw their foul seeds," he declared while summoning forth his own impressive supply of eldritch and telekinetic energy. "Whether one-by-one or all together, you shall know my power and my right to rule!"

The fused warrior responded to the stern vow and the scattershot of energy bolts that followed it with a strong force barrier and some quick sword work that made certain that not one of Krona's attacks hit their selected mark. "Now, now, my dear psychopath," he then countered in a rather posh but still theatrical manner. "It is too late to change sides or the rules that go with them, _ja_?" A quick series of teleportations and surges forward allowed them to get to Krona with a quickness in order to batter around the creator of the bleed without the least bit of sympathy. "And it is not as if the good guys necessarily have to play by the rules all the time."

"And you removed honor from the equation the moment you put the lives of innocent people in jeopardy!" The Sentry added, the once-honored champion of his own reality finding confidence in the strength of those around him as he took control of a part of his own body in order to wallop Krona with a series of stern hooks and uppercuts. "I may not be where I want to be but I'm no longer going to allow somebody like you to convince me to stop trying to move forward!"

"Awwww, can we pleeeeeeeease save the Saturday morning cartoon lesson for another time? I just finished dry heaving." Deadpool finally broke in before taking his own turn at the wheel. Putting all the speed that Deathstroke, Lloyd, Nightcrawler, and his charming self could bring to the table, he zoomed around their anguished adversary in order to use the flat part of Lloyd's saber to spank the creator of the Multiverse right on his blueberry-tinted fanny. "PAPA SPANK! PAPA SPANK! PAPA SPAI. . ."

The sole prisoner within The Worldview allowed himself to let out a wet, ragged cough as he earned himself some precious silence, his desperate gamble to twist the very fabric of the dimensional bleed allowing him to turn the reality he created into a weapon. Looking upon his fallen foe, the determined pest now torn in two by his hastily summoned infusion of anti-matter energy into what was once his prison, the Maltusian briefly narrowed his beetle-black eyes before letting out a long roar of laughter, his unparalleled intelligence once again allowing him to find accomplishment when nothing else could have. Of course, that joy of victory found itself to be short-lived as the fused warrior wasted no time in putting itself back together again, the stern determination radiating from both The Sentry's countenance as well as the thoughts of the majority of his hosts being sullied only slightly by the amused mood of the hero who chose to speak for them.

"Hello, you have reached the voice mail of a loud, extravagant death," Deadpool informed Krona with all the nasal-enriched boredom that he could bring to the table. "We can't come to the phone right now but, after the tone, we'll kill you as soon as we can. Thank you."

Krona could barely let out a gasp as the Mugalshir was thrown into the center of his chest, the sharp metal piercing his rib cage before plunging through his heart and sliding out of his back from the spinal cord out. His vision blurred as his body strained to recover from the damage as he could barely make out the white energy gathering around his adversary's palms as Deadpool's gravelly voice said the word that would finally bring about his attempt to remake all of existence within his own image.

"KA. . . MEEEEEE. . . HAAAAAAA. . . MEEEEEE. . ."

"_Oh, for God's sakes_," Lloyd finally broke in, the unfiltered silliness of the situation at hand becoming too much for even him to bear. _"Can we at least finish the job with something cooler? Maybe a Makankosappo?"_

"HAAAAAAAA!"

The temporal energy that constituted Krona's warped interpretation of The Worldview began to wither and warp away as the white beam crashed into his wounded body, the explosion of light disintegrating his once noble form and eliminating the final point of triangulation that held the dimensional bleed together. The disturbance of two realities worth of matter began to set off shockwaves that soon became too much for the single dimension to bear and even Lloyd's efforts to ward off the flow with the combined powers of The Condemner and The Void seemed to not be enough. The stern orders of Batman and Deathstroke went on unheard as The Sentry raced to aid the half-demon in his efforts, the distraction of their realities mixing together at an even faster rate than before forcing the formless space around them to stretch and strain.

A golden light suffused the body of the fused warrior as reality was once again transformed.

* * *

_San Francisco_

"AHHHH! FOOTBALL PRACTICE!" Deadpool screamed as he frantically opened his eyes, his reclined body jerking violently forward in a manner that forced his cat to be thrown violently to the floor. The feline's angry hiss soon mixed together with the rhythmic creaking of the disheveled springs of his broken-down recliner eagerly poking into his back as he struggled to recover his bearings. Refusing to pay attention to his still trash-strewn floor and the sight of Bob the Hydra Agent sleeping on the nearby couch in what appeared to be a drunken stupor, Wade struggled to make sense of everything he believed to have just seen.

Was it all a dream? Some figment of his warped imagination brought forth through dozens of hours of unchecked grief and consumption of corporate-made cleaning products?

"Woah. Hey now. Wait a second here. . ."

Perhaps his subconscious had allowed him to summon forth a fantasy that would enable him to become a hero of his own make and fashion? Imperfect, most certainly, but still someone who could save the day and protect the lives of those he cared for. It was doubtlessly a fine alternative to his existence at hand, a world that he couldn't possibly control. . .

"BACK UP THE TURNIP TRUCK, MATT!" Deadpool screamed up to seemingly nobody in particular. "Don't tell me you're going to make all of that a dream! You can't just spend three months writing 70,000 words of text and then break the conclusion down to the lowest common denominator! I mean. . . I like to think you're better than that, man!"

Silence reigned throughout the premises, the only sources of interruption stemming from Bob's noisy snoring and the muffled sounds of Wade's cat making a surprisingly complicated series of leaps that culminated with the patchy-looking pet firmly perched upon Deadpool's head.

"Oh, _COME ON!_" Wade pleaded, his frustration causing him to slump back in his chair and prompting his cat to dig its claws into his already bleeding scalp. "But. . . but what about all that stuff I read in your outline that was going to happen after we beat Krona? What about the respectful goodbye between Batman and Nightcrawler? And that scene where The Sentry finally grows a pair because of everything he saw and joins the New Avengers after making certain he gets his wife away from that phallic-shaped tower of his? Batman and the gang watching Zorro! Nightcrawler and the X-Men watching Grey Ghost?!"

Still nothing. Becoming slightly desperate, Wade let out a bit of a pained grunt as he plucked his cat off his head to give it a stern Batglare in the vain hope that the critter would have something to contribute. Sadly, there was no answer to be found there either.

"Well, you're too much of a continuity whore to ignore all the other story elements here, Mister Matt the Batman Fan!" Wade barked at the heavens. "Well, how about Hal and Nightwing showing up to take Kal-El back to The Watchtower? What about that call that Slade makes to Victor Stone convincing him to take Rose back on as a Teen Titan? I wanted to hear Cyborg say BOOYA, you know! And. . . and the big reveal that the whole thing was just Sinestro testing The Misfits again so they could be better prepared for what's coming up for them in Book Five?! Pleeeeeease don't tell me that you're so damn irresponsible that you're just going to end the story right here."

The seconds of silence that followed seemed more meaningful this time as Deadpool sat back to await the answer to his perfectly legitimate array of questions. The mercenary couldn't help but widen his eyes at the possibility that his constant attempts to break the fourth wall would finally bear fruit, that he, out of all the gods, heroes, and villains that had made their presence felt over the past 40 months, would prompt the creator to speak.

"WOHN WOHN! WOHN WOHN WOHN WOHN WOHN WOHN! WOOOOOOHNNNNN!"

"OH, VERY FUNNY! DO I LOOK LIKE CHARLIE BROWN TO YOU!" Deadpool spat back, the mentally diseased murderer now thoroughly insulted by the display of unprofessionalism. "And what do you mean you had to cut this story short so you can get it published on time? YOU ASS OF SHIT!! What kind of lazy ass excuse is that?!"

"Wohn wohn wohn wohn wohn wohn, wohn wohn wohn wohn, wohn wohn. Woooooooohnnnnnn."

"No! NO! Nononononononono! I'm not letting you end the story like this!" Wade declared while crossing his arms over his chest. "If anything else, I am refusing to leave you alone until you at least compensate me for all my troubles! I mean, I got pantsed by Wally friggin' West, for Rao's sakes so I deserve something for all my mental anguish!"

Deadpool remained still as he waited for the author to make his next move. He knew that he had occasionally been rude to comic book fans before, maybe occasionally to the point where he compared them to those otakus that ran around thinking that carrying a foam Buster Sword was actually cool but he couldn't allow this injustice to occur. The author's dozens and dozens of fans deserved a better ending and they were going to get it. No matter how long he had to wait. No matter what fresh tortures the author would drub upon him for daring to. . .

"What you gon' do with all that junk? All that junk inside your trunk? I'ma get, get, get, get, you drunk, get you love drunk off my. . ."

Deadpool kept one eye shifted toward the heavens as he answered his phone, the thought that this might just be a clever trap staying strong in his mind as he brought his parched lips to the speaker. "Hello?"

"Wade!" exclaimed a somewhat cross but still cheery and hauntingly familiar voice. "What the devil is taking you so long, my boy? We're just about to get started!"

Not even the unfettered rage of Wade Woodrow Wilson was enough to shelter him from the joyous wonder that rose from hearing the voice on the other end of his digital tin can and string.

"BEA?! Is that you, my beloved, iron-haired beauty?"

A snort on the other end of the line nearly lifted Wade's heart to somewhere above his still recovering Adam's apple. "Who in the devil is this Bea, young man? This is Dorothy and right now my mother and I are waiting on you so we can start our weekly bridge game. And do hurry up, please, because that nice, red-headed Irish girl that just moved in with you is already here and I think she's not here for us."

Words could simply not express the joy that Wade felt with his handsome reward (and it wasn't because the author was so busy that he wasn't even going to bother to try).

"Right away, my darling! I'll even wear those slacks you bought me on your last trip up to Brooklyn! Bye now!" Hanging up the phone with an excited _claap! _he raced back to his bedroom while singing "Thank You for Being A Friend" at the top of his lungs, his thoughts of threatening his ever-kind guide through his latest misadventure now easily forgotten by his profoundly damaged mind.

* * *

_Misfits Confidential_

WHEW! Well, I've got to admit that, as fun as this story was to start writing on, it was quite a pain to actually get through and finish. As all of you might have guessed in the last few updates, life has been quite busy for me in the last few months. A good kind of busy, granted, but still an occasional nuisance nevertheless. That being said, I do hope that everyone enjoyed what was once a tribute to what of my favorite actresses as well as a thinly veiled display of my frustration at what they did to Deadpool in the Wolverine movie before turning into one of those hyperemotional bits that I always end up writing whenever I try to write a crack piece. I told you guys that I'm no good at this random story thing!

Come to think of it, I think I'm still a little frustrated. Ah well, maybe the stuff that's coming up will make me feel a bit better.

* * *

_Next Issue Preview_

(Cue dramatic voice)

Six months have passed.

_Hal Jordan: The Justice League has regained its feet, the Green Lantern Corps is back to full strength and I don't think the world of ours has been this safe in a long time._

_Dick Grayson: Soooooooo, everything's about to go to hell? _

_Hal Jordan: Oh, yeah._

A new threat emerges to challenge everything The Misfits have done and everyone they have sworn to protect.

_Billy Batson: The scales of fate shall always be threatened by those who wish for more than what they are given. It will be up to you, Earth's chosen champions, to neutralize this threat before it can spread to harm all that lives._

_Kyle Rayner: Something tells me we're not going to get paid for doing all this work, are we?_

_Wally West: Of course not, buddy. 'Cause, y'know, that would actually make some sort of sense._

New allies.

_Zatanna Zatara: Well, well, well, I was wondering when you guys would show up on my doorstep._

New enemies.

_Darkseid: I have witnessed the rise and fall of souls such as yours for countless millennia and the only constant that emerges is that I shall continue on._

Loyalties will be tested.

_Lloyd Thomas: When the hell did you get the right to make that kind of decision?_

_Dick Grayson: How about around the same time it didn't matter what you thought about any of this!_

Love will bloom and falter.

_Kara Zor-el: I don't just love him. I just can't turn away from what I was and what I've become with him by my side. _

The bonds of friendships will be broken.

_Bruce Wayne: What do you want me to say?_

_Stephanie Brown: I don't know. Maybe just something I wanted to hear from somebody else._

And there will be. . . plenty of stupid jokes.

_Cecilia King-Jones: Do you ever worry that this gun obsession of yours might have something to do with a some pent-up sexual frustrations?_

_Roy Harper: Possibly. Of course, I'm not certain how seriously I should take the argument of a girl who's constantly shooting arrows at everything that moves._

The Misfits begins once again in two weeks time with the beginning of _Seven Little Soldiers_ and the next installment: The More Things Change. . . Until then, remember to say what you think and write what you feel!


End file.
